


Unspoken

by RenGoneMad



Series: Un/Spoken [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: (as complies with canon), Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But not unhealthy or creepy, Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Complete, Fluff and Angst, Hatake Kakashi-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, M/M, Obsession, POV Hatake Kakashi, Pining, Romance, Secret Identity, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenGoneMad/pseuds/RenGoneMad
Summary: The memorial stone should be a place to mourn the dead, a place to remember the many sins and failures that haunt Hatake Kakashi.To Iruka, it's a place to speak to his parents, and the mysterious ANBU who listens.Follows Kakashi from ages 14 to 29, and the many ways Iruka changes his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is completely finished. I'll be updating it every few days or so, as I finish editing each chapter. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Kakashi went to see the memorial stone, it was not to visit with the dead remembered there, but rather to see the name that he knew would be absent. Hatake Sakumo had not died on a mission, after all. Nothing about his death could have been construed as “protecting the village”. Hell, he hadn’t even been protecting his son. The stares and whispers were far worse now than they had been when the White Fang was merely disgraced because of a soft heart. Now, they looked at Kakashi with not just contempt, but pity, and that was far, far worse. Why couldn’t his father have gone down fighting, like every decent shinobi? If he wanted to die so much, couldn’t he have done it with grace, taking down Konoha’s enemies?

Kakashi hadn’t stayed long, because shinobi did not cry, and the hot tears that spilled down his face shamed him almost as much as his father. 

The second time that Kakashi visited the memorial stone, Rin had been by his side, one hand squeezing his with a desperate grip as she fell to her knees before the memorial. Her slim fingertips had traced the lettering engraved there, shivering as the cool stone leeched the heat from her skin in the dying light. Bruised grass left stains on her knee-high socks. She didn’t bother brushing them off when she finally rose to her feet, what felt like hours later, and pulled him away. Kakashi’s fingers had long since gone numb. Rin’s hand was limp and icy in his larger one, as if the stone had absorbed all of her strength and warmth.

The third time Kakashi saw that stone, Rin’s hand no longer held his, and his hand wasn’t cold. It burned, the sensations of lightning and blood scalding his skin until he could imagine blisters bubbling on his knuckles. He rubbed his hands together, chasing the dry friction, anything to remind himself that the blood under his nails was just an overlay of the sharingan. His hands were clean, not punched through the chest of the one person he swore to protect. It didn’t work. The fire burned hotter and the tears that fell from Obito’s eye felt like lava against the calloused flesh of his thumb. His hands kept burning, the fire spreading, until Kakashi fell to his knees and pressed shaking palms to the names in the stone. It was chilling as a corpse--inanimate as one, too, and Kakashi could feel his body heat seeping into the stone as hers had that day a lifetime ago, when there had only been one name to mourn. 

Twilight dawned and crickets chirped. Kakashi didn’t move until his hands were as cold as the stone. 

There was no telling how many times Kakashi visited the Memorial Stone after that. It wasn’t every day, because there were missions to do and Minato-sensei had scouted Kakashi for ANBU. He was still in his training phase, though, and spent more time in the village than out of it. It was most days, therefore, that he visited Obito and Rin, and each visit was different. Some days, Kakashi would press his hands to the rock, seeking the cold to numb his pain. 

Other days, he stood as still as the monument, unable to press forward for the inescapable knowledge that he didn’t deserve even that small comfort. He deserved the burn of the lightning in his hands. He deserved to recall the coolness of Rin’s hand that day as only a ghost of what had been, a phantom sensation that could never truly be replicated anyway. 

Sometimes Kakashi wasn’t alone, and on those days he stayed in the crook of an old tree many yards from the monument, silent as others paid their respects to the dead. Kakashi didn’t want to speak to anyone else on those days. Or ever, really. 

Then Minato and Kushina’s names were added to the stone, along with dozens of others, and Kakashi was almost never alone in his grieving. He started coming early in the morning, almost before the sun even rose, so he could get in a few hours by himself with his fallen friends before the mourners came later in the day, forcing Kakashi’s retreat behind the treeline. The ones who visited were civilians and shinobi alike, in flak vests and pretty dresses and tiny shoes for tiny feet. At first there were tears, but those soon dried, as did the droves of people. Some still came habitually after that, every week or every month, replacing flowers or just kneeling in silence for a few minutes before leaving. Others visited only once, or sporadically, but they tended to stay longer and talk when they did, as if the dead had ears. But gradually their numbers dropped as people made peace with the deaths, or built shrines in their own homes, or perhaps were sent out on missions again as the village started to recover from the destruction the Kyuubi had caused. Kakashi was glad when he could spend more time in front of the memorial itself. The tree branch that he had claimed as his own had started to lean slightly from his constant weight. 

There was one boy who didn’t quite fit any of the molds. He came frequently, although erratically, with anything from hours to weeks in between visits. Sometimes he stayed for only a few minutes before leaving. Other times he spent the night in front of the memorial, laying on his side in the grass with his hands cushioning his head as he cried himself to sleep. He didn’t speak aloud very often, but when he did, it was mostly too quiet to hear, and Kakashi’s perch was too far away to accurately read his lips. 

The boy was a few years younger than Kakashi, with a long scar across the bridge of his nose and brown hair in a messy ponytail. His clothes got progressively more ragged, unmended tears in the knee and ripped hems becoming more frequent as the seasons passed. A Kyuubi orphan, Kakashi easily judged. Pre-genin, judging by the lack of hitai-ate. At his age, Kakashi had already been a chuunin, long since responsible for many lives more than his own. 

Perhaps he had never truly been ready for that responsibility. Perhaps he still wasn’t. 

The boy didn’t cry like a shinobi. It was all shaking shoulders, ragged gasps, and a snotty nose. The boy wouldn’t stay if he saw others at the memorial, but when he thought he was alone… his composure didn’t crack, but rather slipped away as if it had never been there at all. He would sometimes stuff a fist in his mouth to muffle his cries, or clutch his knees to his chest and bury his face in them, leaving him incredibly open to attack. The kid had probably not been in a situation yet where he had to worry about being attacked from behind. That was the only possible way he could be so open, so oblivious to his surroundings. People like Kakashi, who spent more nights in trees than in beds, could never cry like that. When the rare shinobi cried at the monument, the tears were solitary, or at least in single digits. They slipped out of tired eyes, or from behind smooth masks. They were quickly wiped away and smothered without a sound. 

This boy was different. His pain was written on every line on his face, from bloodshot eyes to trembling lips and broken cries. Sometimes, Kakashi wondered what would happen if he came out while the boy was there. Would the brunette rub at his eyes, try to pretend he was fine? That was what happened the few times someone else showed up at the monument during the kid’s periods of mourning. Sometimes, the scenario in Kakashi’s mind played out differently. He would approach, and the boy wouldn’t notice him coming until Kakashi was right there, a soothing hand placed on the boy’s shoulder, like Minato-sensei used to do for Obito. The brunette would stiffen, looking up at Kakashi in surprise, or confusion, but after a moment that reaction would fade and he would accept what little, wordless comfort Kakashi could provide. The daydream normally stopped there, because Kakashi had no idea how to comfort someone who was grieving, had never been any good at it. But he liked to think that he could do something, could maybe make Iruka’s cries sound just a little less heart-wrenching, so they wouldn’t churn in Kakashi’s gut every time he watched that slender body wracked with sobs. 

He never did, though, and as far as Kakashi was aware, the boy never knew that he was anything other than completely alone. A few times, early on, Kakashi used a shunshin to escape his tree without being noticed and leave the boy truly alone, although he wasn’t quite sure why he bothered. Normally, when others came, he would shunshin to his tree and wait until they left, unless he had a mission or something else to call him away. Shinobi couldn’t be too bothered with privacy, not when information was a commodity held in high regard and spying was a quarter of the job. 

With this kid, it was different. Perhaps it was because he was so overt in his grief, so visibly shaken, but Kakashi rather felt as though watching was intruding on something intensely private, something that no one else was meant to see. But normally, he couldn’t help but stay and watch. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or perhaps the boy just reminded him of someone else that he didn’t want to forget. Obito was a picture of equanimity next to this kid, Kakashi thought one day as his single gray eye watched the boy fall asleep next to the monument, tear tracks drying on chubby cheeks. A dry leaf dropped lightly to land on a dirt-smudged ear, and a tanned hand rose to bat it away sleepily. Kakashi froze, utterly still amongst the gently swaying leaves of the forest as he registered something very strange--a twitch of lips behind a black mask, quirking into the closest thing to a smile that they had formed in literal years. 

The boy woke up in the early hours of pre-dawn to find a gray wool blanket warding off the worst of the late fall chill.

Umino Iruka. That was the boy’s name, or so Kakashi surmised after hearing it shouted after the brown streak as it tore down an alley, chased by an Academy teacher that was covered head-to-toe in what looked to be some kind of amorphous, possibly-alive sludge. After that, Kakashi picked up the name more often, normally said in combination with an exasperated groan or a roar of rage. The only exception was the Sandaime, whose lips stretched into a smile around his pipe when Kakashi overheard him speaking about the boy to one of his guards. His tone was fond, almost fatherly, and Kakashi wondered if perhaps the Sandaime hadn’t perhaps been a bit of a prankster in his own youth, however many centuries ago that was. 

Then Kakashi started performing assassination missions, and he no longer had time to wonder about the scarred boy that slept in front of the memorial stone. He had long since completed lessons of a different sort than what the Academy taught, or even what he had learned under Minato-sensei’s tutelage. Now he was a finely honed weapon, and little more. He knew exactly how to slide a senbon into the neck of a sleeping woman to disconnect her brainstem. He could seduce someone and leave their nude body lying prone on the mattress, crimson staining rumpled sheets. Kakashi learned how to stalk a man, get into his life, gain his trust and learn of his unrequited love or guilty habits, the name of his Koi fish--and then slit his throat in cold blood while his daughter celebrated her fifth birthday in the next room. The blood on Kakashi’s hands no longer belonged solely to Obito and Rin and Minato and people killed in the adrenaline of an all-out fight. Now, his hands were permanently stained, and he didn’t think even the stone would be able to cool the fire that burned them. 

Not that he got many chances to try. There was mandatory downtime after every mission requiring assasination, but somehow that rule got blurred along with a whole lot of others as the village tried to recover from the loss of life suffered during the Kyuubi attack. Kakashi spent only a few days a month in the village, and most of that was spent with his unit, or in the hospital, when he got too careless. That seemed to be happening more and more lately. Kakashi didn’t know if the missions were getting harder or if he was getting weaker, but it didn’t matter much either way. He completed his missions and reported to his Hokage. That was his only goal, the only meaning to his life. He just hated that Obito had to witness it all. If possible, Kakashi would have liked to show Obito something nicer than the dead bodies of children--perhaps the Land of Tea Leaves in the fall, or the Land of Hot Springs at literally any time of year. Instead, his sharingan was full of visions stained crimson, and his hands burned more often than not now. 

How long had it been since he had last visited the stone? Kakashi tried to sort through the muddled passage of time as his feet carried him shakily towards the small clearing. His body felt so heavy, the boots on his feet like lead as they dragged across dead grass. It was recovering from winter’s chill and hadn’t quite taken on the lush green of spring yet, but Kakashi couldn’t hear the crunch he knew it must have made as he dropped to his knees before the stone. All noise was drowned out by his heart pounding dully in his ears, throbbing in time with his head. 

It was hard to breathe behind the dual masks of fabric and porcelain. Cracked lips parted beneath the cloth. Each inhalation sent a stab of pain through his broken ribs. Just two this time--nothing the healers wouldn’t be able to mend in a couple of nights. The gash on his right bicep was still bleeding, and Kakashi absently applied pressure with his gloved left hand, the sting barely registering as he blinked slowly at the names before him. 

The mission hadn’t been too bad. No one died, anyway, other than the intended target. Kakashi was just so… weak. Smoke inhalation from being briefly trapped in a building that had suffered a rather nasty katon made his throat burn, but the broken ribs were much more of a concern at the moment. Even they could wait, though. He just needed a minute to rest, a minute to remind himself of Obito and Rin and all of his other fucking mistakes, because it was getting harder to remember Obito’s smile, the one that the sharingan hadn’t captured. 

Kakashi sat there for minutes or hours, slumped forward with his forehead and shoulder braced against the stone, right hand curled in the grass beside his knee like it would keep him grounded. At some point the sun rose, and Kakashi dimly realized that it was time to move, but his body betrayed him and remained immobile. Birds chirped around him. Kakashi couldn’t focus on them. His joints were locked, stiffened with cold and the lack of movement, and just the thought of standing made him grind his teeth together at the idea of the pain. 

The bleeding had stopped, he dimly noted. The ribs were still broken, unsurprisingly. 

Lack of sleep and the substitution of soldier pills instead of food over the last week must have hit him harder than he expected, because Kakashi only recognized the presence of another person when they spoke, tone hesitant and wary. 

“ANBU-san?” Sharp pain streaked through his right arm as his left ripped away to land on the hilt of his kunai. He spun on his knees, left foot bracing on the ground, muscles bunching as he prepared to fight, but his opponent’s appearance stilled him before he could draw the kunai. He was a comrade, or so indicated the Konoha hitai-ate on his forehead. Kakashi couldn’t retrieve the boy’s name from his murky mind at the moment, but the scar across the shinobi’s nose was familiar, even if he seemed taller and more muscular now, brown eyes drawn in concern and a hint of fear instead of filled with tears.

Kakashi’s fingers flexed around his kunai. His brain moved sluggishly as he tried to figure out where the sudden pain in his arm had come from. His left fingers didn’t want to peel apart for some reason. He glanced at his arm without tilting his head. The scab that had formed on his wound overnight had torn off with his sudden movement. Fresh blood seeped through the slit in his black glove and stained the white straps of his brace. 

Not an attack, then, which was good since the sudden movement had also reminded Kakashi how unwise it was to twist with broken ribs. The boy had stopped several yards away from him, which was smart, because Kakashi couldn’t be held accountable for what he would have done if the boy had touched him without warning. “I…” The voice trailed off, and Kakashi wondered if he was waiting for a greeting. The boy swallowed thickly, audible underneath the chirping of birds. “You’re bleeding.” 

Kakashi didn’t think that statement of the obvious really demanded an answer. Flexing his fingers, he broke the crusted blood that sealed them together. He let go of his kunai and he sat back on the hard ground, knees bent in front of him as he leaned against the memorial stone. He really should have left by now, but he didn’t fancy trailing his blood against half of Konoha to make it back to ANBU headquarters and the medics there. Half-numb fingers fumbled with a pouch on his hip as he pulled out a pad of gauze to press against his forearm. 

“I can help.” Iruka offered suddenly, one hand rising to hover uncertainly in the air as he took a hesitant step forward, clearly broadcasting his movements so as not to startle the ANBU. Iruka. That was his name. Kakashi’s heart was still beating too quickly in his ears from the adrenaline that poured into him at the initial startle, but he didn’t move away as the boy approached slowly and dropped to his knees before Kakashi. “I’m not a medic, but I can seal this for you until you get to the hospital.” Iruka said, dark brows furrowed as he reached out, ever so slowly, and gently cradled Kakashi’s elbow. Their bare skin never touched, but he could feel the warmth of the boy’s hand through the cloth of his gloves. He resisted the urge to pull away. It was uncomfortable, the intense awareness of every place they connected. A tanned hand gently wrapped around Kakashi’s other wrist and dropped the Copy nin’s left hand back to his side so that the boy could remove the gauze and examine the wound himself. 

He wasn’t really a boy anymore, though, and Kakashi was struck by how long it had been since he had seen Iruka. It had been more than weeks, surely. Months, then? A year? Iruka had a hitai-ate now, had probably been a genin for some time. His voice wasn’t fully matured yet, but his musculature was that of a teenager, and his shoulders were broader. The hands on Kakashi’s arm were large and calloused, though not as much as his own. 

This wasn’t exactly how Kakashi had imagined meeting Iruka in person, but it gave him an opportunity to observe things he had never noticed before, with only inches separating their faces instead of rows of trees and leaves. Iruka’s eyelashes were short but thick, concealing his eyes as he carefully pulled the edges of Kakashi’s shirt away from his wound. Barely visible freckles dotted around his scar like constellations, just a shade off from the rest of his skin tone. Kakashi saw a small scar on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger and wondered if Iruka had gotten it in one of the pranks for which he was notorious. 

Iruka’s hand withdrew to open one of his own pouches and pull out a small bottle of wound cleaner, and Kakashi realized then that Iruka was fully suited up to go on a mission, a brown backpack on the ground several feet away and kunai in its holder on his thigh. He must have been coming to visit the memorial one last time before heading out.

“This’ll sting.” Iruka murmured, eyes fixed on the wound instead of the intimidating dog mask that covered Kakashi’s features. The warning was meaningless, and Kakashi had far worse pain in his ribs with each breath than the mild stinging of the antiseptic. He had even suffered through field stitches without numbing more than once. His fingers twitched as Iruka dabbed at the wound with the gauze to dry it, but Kakashi made no other movement or show of pain. His breaths were shallow but slow, an attempt to ease the ache in his chest as Iruka worked. Setting the gauze down on the grass by his knee, Iruka’s hands started to glow with the faint green of healing chakra. 

A medic, this boy was certainly not. The chakra rubbed against Kakashi like sandpaper, drawing a hiss from between clenched teeth as his toes dug into the soles of his boots. “Sorry,” Iruka winced sympathetically, and his chakra receded to a more tolerable level as his palm hovered over the wound. A flush was staining his cheeks now as his eyes darted up to Kakashi’s mask and then away again, likely embarrassed at the evidently inexperienced attempt at healing. Rin’s chakra had always been warm, soothing, almost like it was coaxing the skin to heal itself instead of forcing the tissue together and sewing it closed. The medics in ANBU were less gentle, but efficient, not a single ounce of chakra wasted in their efforts. This was clumsy by comparison, and Kakashi wondered if Iruka had any actual training or if one of his friends had just shown him the absolute basics. Nonetheless, Kakashi’s wound slowly started to heal, a scab forming back over the top. Kakashi observed Iruka’s face as he worked, the way his lips pinched together and a few hairs strayed rebelliously from the high ponytail that had been a permanent fixture as long as Kakashi had known him. 

Iruka jumped as Kakashi’s left hand caught his bare wrist, the green glow fading as Kakashi moved it slowly away from his own arm. Slowly flexing to test the healing, Kakashi felt a sharp twinge of pain, but decided it was in no danger of ripping open again until he made it to ANBU headquarters. 

Iruka sat back on his heels. “I guess that’s enough, then?” He rubbed at his nose nervously as his gaze darted to Kakashi’s eyes and away again. Or, where his eyes should be. Konoha’s ANBU masks were unique in that a permanent ninjutsu was attached to them, making it impossible to see what lay beyond the eyeholes. Instead, they appeared black, as if constantly in shadow. It was a provision to protect the identities and abilities of dojutsu users. Konoha was the only Hidden Village with multiple dojutsu clans, and the Hyuuga often made it into ANBU, even if only a few sharingan users had ever managed it. Seeing the strange white eyes of the Hyuuga would give away too many secrets before an attack even got started, so it had become standard procedure in the last war to hide ANBU’s eyes. It helped particularly in Kakashi’s case, since otherwise Iruka would have seen one gray eye, and one black eyepatch covering his sharingan, which would have been even more identifiable than the silver hair.

Iruka seemed less frightened and more just nervous, but Kakashi supposed that was also a reasonable reaction to being so close to an ANBU. The genin stood and took a few steps back as Kakashi made to rise himself. Bracing himself on the stone, Kakashi did his best to keep his upper body immobile as he straightened, knees popping and creaking with the motion. He had spent far more time at the memorial than intended, and his joints were protesting for it, but it was an undercurrent compared to the agony of his broken ribs.

Certain now that he was steady enough to walk, even as his body screamed in protest, Kakashi took a few steps forward, away from the stone. He drew even with Iruka and paused for a moment before placing his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly in an echo of what he had imagined doing for far too long, and what he hoped passed as a wordless thanks. His throat felt raw as though it had been shredded, and he was sure any sound he made now wouldn’t come out quite right, anyway. The gesture seemed to work, because Iruka’s tension melted away and he gifted Kakashi with a broad smile, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. A lump formed in Kakashi’s throat as he thought of another boy he had once known who could smile so wide. 

Then Kakashi was gone in a swirl of leaves, running through the trees towards the ANBU base and the medics waiting there. He felt somewhat dizzy, though he hadn’t lost enough blood to account for that. Maybe he would actually take a few days off this time, Kakashi thought as he ran. And maybe, he would see more than just ghosts at memorial stone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was intending to publish this tomorrow, but your amazing comments inspired me to get the editing done today instead. I appreciate the feedback so much, and I hope this chapter is received just as well.

It wasn’t as though Kakashi spent every waking moment thinking about Iruka. In fact, he sometimes went a few days or more without even giving the younger boy a single thought. Then he would see someone with a brown ponytail, or he would find time to visit the memorial stone again, and Iruka would pervade his thoughts. Kakashi played with the idea of leaving his perch in the trees and greeting Iruka, perhaps thanking him for his help before, but it was never more than an idea that failed to take shape. There were times, though, when Iruka looked straight into the forest, far too near to Kakashi’s tree, and he wondered whether Iruka could sense him. It was a ridiculous idea--Kakashi was an expert at suppressing his chakra, as more than a few successfully completed assassinations could attest. But Iruka made him wonder. About many things, actually. Normally, Kakashi was down-to-earth and composed, serious to the core; it was one of many things that Obito had always disliked about him, and something Rin had said she admired. Iruka’s presence always seemed to stir something in Kakashi, however, and he could only label it as curiosity. 

As the next few years passed, Iruka’s tears lessened as his height increased, age bringing with it some sense of composure and maturity that seemed to make it easier for him to sit at the Memorial Stone in quiet serenity instead of desperate, heaving sobs. He wasn’t always quiet, though, and when he spoke his voice was clearer than before, stronger, something that Kakashi didn’t have to strain to hear. Iruka no longer fell asleep in front of the memorial, and his threadbare shirts and ragged pants were exchanged for a neatly pressed chuunin uniform. The smudges of dirt disappeared from his cheeks as his jaw sharpened, and muscles developed in new places, broadening until his silhouette was that of an adult. Kakashi wondered how Iruka had passed the chuunin exam, if he was planning on going for jounin or not. He wondered if Iruka had given up entirely on his prankster ways. He wondered if there was any chance that Iruka remembered that ANBU he had helped all those years ago, and if so, what he thought about Kakashi. It had only been a single point in time for Iruka, whereas for Kakashi, it was one of many meetings, even if only one of them was aware of most of them. 

Kakashi’s chakra was lower than it had ever been before, and he could feel the last sparks start to fizzle out in the pouring rain that pounded on his chest and the ground. The dead bodies of four enemy nin surrounded him, and the targeted scroll was clenched in Kakashi’s fist. His team would be there soon, presuming any of them had survived the cave-in. He hoped they had. He liked Tenzo, more than anyone else still alive. The brief image of a high ponytail and a straight nose with a scar and freckles flashed through Kakashi’s mind, but he couldn’t even hold onto that, and Iruka’s face soon slipped away as his eyes closed. 

Each breath was shallower than the last. Kakashi knew he didn’t have much time left. He could make peace with that. Well, not peace perhaps, because Kakashi had far too many regrets in his life to ever be at peace--but he didn’t regret this mission, and he didn’t regret dying. If anyone on his team was left, they would get the scroll back to the Hokage. That was what was important. Kakashi’s life was valuable only as a tool, a weapon, and sometimes Kakashi wondered why the fuck he even bothered. Obito was dead. Rin was dead. Minato and Kushina were dead. His father was dead. There were Kakashi’s ninken to consider, but it wasn’t like they were normal dogs; they could take care of themselves. They would grieve him, surely, but it wasn’t as though they would starve. He wished he had the chakra left to summon one of them so they could ensure the scroll made it back to the Hokage, but even that was beyond his reach now. 

Guy would mourn for the loss of his Eternal Rival. Maybe he would read _Icha Icha_ in Kakashi’s honor. No, probably not. Kakashi remembered the brilliant pink Guy had flushed after just a few pages and how he had thrust the book back at Kakashi like it was one of Anko’s snakes. Tenzo would probably grieve, maybe spend a night at the bar and drink himself unconscious. Then he would get up the next day, learn who his new squad leader was, and think of Kakashi fondly maybe a few times a month. Another lost comrade, perhaps a friend, but nothing more. 

What was Kakashi fighting for? Obito? Obito had said he would see the world through Kakashi, but what had Kakashi shown him? The corpses of children and some porn novels. That was all he had to look forward to, as well. 

His death wouldn’t destroy Konoha, or anyone in it. Someone else could protect the village. Sure, Kakashi of the Sharingan was good, one of the best, but that didn’t make him irreplaceable. There were others with the sharingan, even some bright, gifted ones that could easily take his place in ANBU. It wouldn’t be so bad to die here. He could stop fighting, stop killing, stop mourning. The constant pitter-patter of rain was almost soothing. He just wished people would stop shouting and ruining it. How was he supposed to die in peace if people kept screaming his name?

The two month long mission in the Land of Lightning culminated in two weeks leave due to chakra exhaustion. Kakashi was able to visit the Memorial Stone on the tenth day of his leave. The first eight days had been spent in the hospital, and upon his escape, he had barely managed to dig out a seldom-used jounin uniform before Guy had accosted him for another full day. Kakashi eventually relented and agreed to a speed-reading contest that, of course, he had won quite handily, even without the sharingan. 

Now, finally, he was alone, except for the presence of a few ghosts which would never truly leave him. Kakashi sat in front of the memorial and spoke to them for hours, until his voice was hoarse and his hands stopped burning--for now. The pain would return with the nightmares, as it always did, but that was alright. Kakashi wasn’t looking for forgiveness, and he didn’t expect his conscience would ever be clean. He just needed to remember what he was fighting for, because for a moment there, when he had believed he was dying, he had felt relief. 

He was fighting for the Sandaime, and for Guy. For Tenzo and Yugao. For Minato and Kushina. For Rin and Obito. He was fighting for the Will of Fire and the children who would carry it on. He was fighting for everything that Rin and Obito had fought for, and he was fighting so that their sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain. The words sounded hollow, even in Kakashi’s mind. He knew he believed them, knew that they were true, but he was having trouble conjuring up the emotions to accompany them. He felt numb, and from more than the cold snow that had long since soaked into his pants. 

Something tugged at the edge of Kakashi’s awareness and a quick shunshin carried him to his usual tree in a flash so quick that Minato-sensei would be proud. Minato would not have been quite so proud of the way that Kakashi stumbled once he arrived on the tree, dizziness from the sudden loss of already depleted chakra and the slickness of accumulated snow on the branch combining to nearly throw him to the ground. He barely managed to hold on by grabbing the branch above, fingerless gloves digging into the fluffy white stuff as he stabilized. The medics would have his skin if they knew he had used a shunshin so quickly after being hospitalized for chakra depletion. It probably wasn’t a good idea to use another to get away without being seen. 

Kakashi wasn’t hiding, he never did… he just _avoided_. He didn’t want to answer questions, and he didn’t want to disturb the mourning of others. Kakashi debated running to his dust-covered apartment and taking a scalding shower, when he caught a flash of color between the barren tree branches. His cover wasn’t as good here without the leaves to hide him, so he ducked behind the tree’s trunk and peered around with his one good eye. What he saw made his throat seize, stomach flipping uncomfortably. 

It was Iruka, bundled in a dark green coat, hands shoved into the pockets and a red scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. Even with the hood pulled up, the scar across his nose made him unmistakable. Iruka looked down at the dents in the snow that Kakashi’s knees had previously occupied, expression undeterminable behind the scarf and hood. He looked up, and although Kakashi was sure that the small bit of his face peering around the trunk was perfectly concealed in shadow, he once again felt as though Iruka was looking almost directly at him. 

There was silence for several moments in which Kakashi hardly breathed. Finally Iruka looked back down at the memorial stone. The wind was steadily rising, blowing little flurries around and sticking to the fabric of Iruka’s coat where they slowly dissolved only for new snowflakes to take their place. Kakashi was about to just give up hiding in the freezing cold and make a run for his apartment when a sound drifted to him, carried by the wind. The words were soft in a way that had nothing to do with volume. 

“Welcome back.” Kakashi blinked, still parsing the words when Iruka’s head tilted back up and he looked into the forest. His lips were covered, but his eyes crinkled as though he were smiling. Then he turned and started back towards the village. His prints were slowly swept away by fresh flurries. 

Kakashi wasn’t sure how long he stayed in that tree, but by the time he returned to his apartment, he was concerned about frostbite. 

When he came back the next morning, after the storm had passed and most villagers were busy clearing the streets, Kakashi found footprints leading from the memorial stone to his tree. On his branch was a gray wool blanket, carefully folded and draped over the limb. Kakashi ran shaking fingertips over it. The fabric felt rough and cool to the touch. He brought it to his face and breathed deeply through his mask. 

Unlike the steamy novels he read, Kakashi couldn’t identify any particular scents--not sandalwood or lilac or smoke. It didn’t smell like anything, really, but at the same time, Kakashi thought it almost felt like something: 

A reason. 

He pushed the idea away as quickly as it had formed, but he didn’t push away the blanket. Instead, he gathered it in his arms and headed for his apartment.

“Hey, boss.” 

“Hmm?” Kakashi hummed in question as he turned another page in his novel. This was his second favorite scene, the one where the protagonists get caught in the rain and undress to avoid catching a cold. The female lead’s top had just come off and he wasn’t too keen on being interrupted, even by Pakkun. He was truly comfortable for the first time in months, laying out across his bed with his head on the pillows and a thick wool blanket keeping in the heat despite the drafty nature of the jounin apartments. 

“Where’d this come from? It doesn’t smell like you.” Kakashi glanced down to look at Pakkun as he wiggled in his spot beside Kakashi’s legs, dark muzzle sniffing curiously at the coarse fabric. 

“What does it smell like?” Kakashi asked in feigned disinterest as his eye slid back to his book. Not for the first time, he considered the perks of learning to channel chakra to his nose like the Inuzukas, but decided it really wasn’t worth the effort. That was what he had the pack for. 

“Hmm. A human male. Tea, both green and black. Ink. Earth. Paper...” Pakkun paused for a moment, head cocked to the side as he frowned in thought. Kakashi had learned a long time ago that dogs could, indeed, frown. Pakkun’s expression cleared into one of satisfaction and his tail gave a few cursory wags as he discovered the last elusive scent. “And ramen. Smells good. So whose is it? A friend?” Pakkun gave a short huff that was probably meant to be a laugh at the idea of his master having someone that qualified as a “friend”. They didn’t seem to think much of Guy, and Tenzo (while they enjoyed his belly-scratches) didn’t really count since he and Kakashi rarely talked about anything more personal than what they wanted to eat once they finally made it out of a mission. 

Still, Pakkun’s lack of confidence was mildly insulting. Kakashi found himself smiling as he turned to the next page, lips quirking upwards under his mask. “Maa… not exactly.” 

Pakkun waited for a minute, but when Kakashi silently turned yet another page, he harrumphed and gave up, laying his head down on Kakashi’s knee and closing his eyes to sleep.

Iruka talked aloud more often after that winter. It was simple stuff, the kind of thing a kid might tell his parents about after coming back from school, or so Kakashi imagined, since he had never really experienced such a thing himself. Apparently, Iruka had just started training as an assistant sensei at the Academy, and the students were more of a handful than Iruka could have ever imagined. 

Other than his students, Iruka spoke about other mundane things in his life, like his friend Mizuki, or how he was researching the sealing jutsu his mother had been adept in. Kakashi knew that all of these words were directed to Iruka’s parents and, perhaps, the ghosts of others that he had lost and whose names were now engraved on the stone alongside Obito’s. But sometimes it almost felt as though the words were meant for Kakashi. Iruka one time spent a half hour rambling about a dog he had as a child, and Kakashi just listened, hidden away on his tree branch, and refrained from asking the questions that threatened to bubble up from his throat. 

And he had so many questions. What kind of trouble did Iruka get into after that prank involving the Academy sensei and pond algae? Was the civilian kid still being bullied? Had that one idiot figured out how to throw a shuriken without cutting himself yet? Did Iruka eat anything other than ramen? Why had he chosen to teach instead of going for jounin?

“They’re going to give me a class of my own.” Iruka smiled as he knelt in the grass before the memorial, pulling out a vine that had started to creep onto the smooth stone. “I’m nervous, but… She said I’m ready. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ll guess we’ll see, yeah? Kotetsu and Izumo want to go to the Sharpened Kunai tonight to celebrate.” Iruka rubbed his nose in pleased embarrassment and smudged a bit of dirt there. It made something painfully nostalgic well up in Kakashi’s chest. For just a moment, he considered going out there and wiping it away. The thought of Iruka falling back on his ass in surprise made a soundless chuckle bubble in Kakashi’s chest. 

Iruka had told his parents (and Kakashi, albeit unknowingly) a couple months before about how he had finally turned of age. His first experience with alcohol was not the best, and Izumo and Kotetsu (Kaksahi had a vague mental image of them as two chuunin rarely seen outside of each other’s company) had been forced to carry him home. Kakashi wondered if tonight would end so amusingly, and wondered how stalker-ish it would be if he just so happened to sit in a corner at the Sharpened Kunai tonight. Thus far, Kakashi had never purposely seen Iruka outside of their coincidental meetings at the memorial stone and a few random glimpses around the village, although the temptation had presented itself more than once. But Kakashi wasn’t delusional, and he knew there was a line between being vaguely interested in an acquaintance who didn’t even know he existed (possibly, that was still a bit up-in-the-air) and flat-out stalking someone. 

He should know; he had done enough stalking to last a lifetime, and it normally ended his victim’s. 

“I told Mizuki, but he--” Iruka cut himself off, eyes narrowing and lips drawing down into a frown as his hand dropped to curl into a loose fist on his thigh. Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by birdsong. “They’re not giving him a class of his own yet.” There was a lot of meaning packed behind that simple sentence, things that Kakashi couldn’t even begin to unravel with his limited knowledge of Mizuki, someone he knew nothing about outside of Iruka’s occasional mentions. Whatever was going on with Mizuki, it clearly affected Iruka. His tone was a mix of frustration and resignation, and the line of his shoulders was tense beneath his flak vest. 

It was then that an idea entered Kakashi’s head, and before he could think better of it, he had already done it. He wanted to think his motivations were purely selfish--he just wanted to see if he was really right, if those meaningful glances towards the trees meant what he thought they did, and Iruka knew he was listening. In truth, he might have just wanted to ease some of the tension that rippled in Iruka like a livewire. Iruka hadn’t cried in front of the memorial stone (not when Kakashi was there, at least) for years, and it didn’t seem right to see him looking so dejected now. So, Kakashi let the tight hold he kept on his chakra slip a bit. To most people, it would have been unnoticeable. Perhaps an ANBU or sensor would have noticed the sudden presence of another person, but that was all. Kakashi let go of his chakra for just that one moment, let it flutter out and caress Iruka like butterfly wings, before pulling it back, tightly coiling it into the confines in his body as had become second nature since joining ANBU. 

The effect was immediate. Iruka snapped to attention, his head jerking up and wide brown eyes fixing intently on Kakashi’s tree. Kakashi was certain he couldn’t be seen, but still, a flicker of doubt formed in him when Iruka seemed to almost meet his eye. Then Iruka relaxed, shoulders drooping. A light sigh that sounded like relief left Iruka’s parted lips. The fists on his thighs uncurled and a small smile graced Iruka’s features. “Thank you, ANBU-san.” The soft murmur filtered gently through the tree branches.

Kakashi’s heart skipped a beat. That confirmed several things at once, and his thoughts started to race. Iruka could not see him, then--Kakashi was currently wearing the standard jounin uniform, since he was off-duty, and his dog mask was tucked away safely in his apartment. Somehow, though, Iruka had connected the mysterious wounded ANBU with Kakashi, and that was dangerous. But if the younger man couldn’t see his real identity, he supposed there were no rules technically being breached. That was a minor mercy. 

While Iruka’s body language had shown surprise, it hadn’t been alarm; his hands had never strayed to his kunai, and it had taken him only a moment to relax entirely. In all likelihood, Iruka had already known he was there. Had he always? Kakashi couldn’t believe that. The way Iruka had cried, right after the Kyuubi attack… there was no way that sort of heart-wrenching misery could be so purely expressed in front of a stranger. No one could possibly be that trusting. When had Iruka stopped crying in front of the memorial? Kakashi realized it had been sometime around that single meeting, when Iruka had healed him. Had Iruka been able to sense his presence since then, or was he merely the least paranoid shinobi in the village?

A few seconds later, Iruka looked back down to the stone and started speaking again. “Akira-kun finally made a friend, I think. I’m relieved--I was starting to think he was mute.” Iruka chuckled before continuing. Everything was exactly the same as it always was, with Iruka rambling on about his students and silly, inconsequential things in his life, without giving any indication that he knew someone other than the dead was listening. But he did, and Kakashi knew now that the words were, at least in part, meant for him. 

He settled once more into his tree branch, head tilting back to rest against the bark and eye closing. Iruka’s light tone drifted through the leaves like a lullaby, and though Kakashi didn’t sleep, couldn’t for the loud pounding of his heart, he felt something very close to peace for the first time in a long, long while.

Kakashi didn’t go to the Sharpened Kunai that night, but if he happened to walk past at about the same time an intoxicated and rosy cheeked chuunin left, well, that was just a coincidence. Iruka wasn’t being carried this time, but Kotetsu and Izumo (which was which?) were framing him on either side, no doubt walking him home for the evening. Iruka’s smile stretched his cheeks until they dimpled. Glassy eyes slid over Kakashi’s figure as they passed, not even focusing fully before turning to ask Kotetsu (or Izumo?) a question. 

His body language was open and relaxed, smile never even faltering as they passed mere feet from each other. It was almost as if Kakashi wasn’t there at all. That solved another one of Kakashi’s questions: Iruka had no idea who his mysterious ANBU-san really was. In his intoxicated and relaxed state he would have shown some recognition, even if it was only a lingering glance. But there had been nothing. It was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. Kakashi didn’t want to examine too closely the reason for the latter.

There were many things Kakashi wanted to ask, but he never did. Still, whenever he could, he listened. The memorial stone now called to Kakashi for more than just mourning the dead engraved there. More than just regrets and self-hatred greeted Kakashi when he arrived. Iruka never showed up in the early mornings, not unless it was right before a mission, which the Academy sensei rarely took now. Kakashi would arrive around the time the sun did and stay until late afternoon or even sunset, waiting for Iruka’s arrival. He came most often on Mondays and Fridays, Kakashi noted, although Iruka was almost as unpredictable now as he had been as a child, and sometimes he would disappear for a week only to spend many hours there several days in a row. 

It became a routine for Kakashi, and whenever he was in the village, he made the memorial stone his home. And if the occasional brush of his chakra against Iruka’s when the younger man seemed to need comforting made a smile light up tanned features… well, that felt like home, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictional bars seems to always be named with an adjective and random noun, or weapon, as in the Naruto fandom. I figured I'd continue the trend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the wonderful comments! I'll try to respond to all of you individually today.

They weren’t using the main road, as usual. The appearance of an ANBU unit would frighten civilians and travelers, and it was just natural practice in black ops to operate without being seen. But Kakashi knew this route through the trees about as well as any road, and he ran it just as fast, tree bark and moss flying underneath his heels as he raced towards the Hidden Leaf. Tenzou, Washi, and Yugao followed after him, although at a more sedate pace that had them falling a bit behind their excited leader.

“Oi, senpai! What’s the rush?” Tenzou huffed, putting a bit of extra chakra into his next leap so he could draw level with his captain. It was late afternoon on a Friday, and they were just getting back from a month-long mission. For once, they were all in good shape, including Kakashi: he wasn’t chakra depleted (much), he had no broken bones, and while he was certainly sleep deprived, it was mostly from the bone-chilling rain they had suffered the entire last leg of the trip, rather than any actual life-threatening danger. They had left the rain behind after crossing back into Fire country. 

Kakashi couldn’t blame his lack of sleep on nightmares, since he never slept deeply enough in the field for them to make an appearance. No, they preferred to haunt him when he was back in the village, and for that, Kakashi was grateful. The last thing he needed was his team to see him waking covered in the stench of sweat and terror.

“Got someone waiting for you?” Yugao teased, and Kakashi could imagine her smirking cheekily behind the striped mask. 

Suddenly, Kakashi ground to a halt, scraping the glove of his left hand on the bark of a tree as he fought against the momentum carrying him forward. His three teammates flew past him to the next tree before stopping much more gracefully on a higher branch. They didn’t turn immediately, hands going to weapons as they mentally reached out to warily examine the forest around them, evidently alarmed by Kakashi’s sudden action. Finding nothing, Tenzou turned cautiously, head tilting to the side in question. 

“Senpai?” Confusion was evident in the simple question, but Kakashi did nothing to answer his kouhai. He couldn’t, not yet, because something had just occurred to him, something that made his heart pound quickly and his head swim with something very close to fear. 

Silence reigned for several long moments before Kakashi suddenly took off, continuing in the same direction they had been going, but at an even greater speed than before. Bark splintered beneath the soles of his boots as he used a bit too much chakra to push off of a branch. 

“Taichou?” Yugao asked warily as she and Tenzou drew even with Kakashi on either side. 

“Go on to headquarters and get some rest. I’ll report to Sandaime.” Kakashi’s tone brooked no argument, and although Yugao and Tenzou’s gave each other looks that Kaksahi could only presume meant “What the fuck is wrong with him?”, they ultimately shrugged and obeyed their commander’s order, departing from him just before they reached Konoha’s walls. Their ever-silent fourth member, Washi, followed.

The Sandaime noticed Kakashi’s preoccupation as he mechanically gave his report, hands locked behind his back as he stood at attention before the old man. When Kakashi finished, the Hokage considered him for a few long moments, puffing steadily on his pipe. Smoke curled towards the ceiling in long gray wisps as the Sandaime exhaled before speaking.

“Do you have anything else to report?”

“No, Hokage-sama.” 

More silence as Hiruzen puffed on his pipe a few more times. Kakashi knew he was more tense than usual, eyes flickering to the setting sun every so often and practically radiating his intense desire to leave, but he waited stoically for the Hokage to dismiss him.

“Come see me in four days for your next mission.” The old man finally said, turning his scrutinizing gaze to the paperwork before him.

Kakashi gave a terse nod. “Hokage-sama.” He said in acknowledgement even as he slipped through the window. 

Iruka didn’t react when Kakashi appeared in his usual tree, standing on the branch this time instead of sitting. Iruka was sitting, however, legs folded underneath him properly and eyes closed. He seemed to almost be meditating, and Kakashi wondered if he had been at the clearing since school ended. It was why Kakashi had been in a rush, eager to get there before Iruka left. 

The younger man showed no signs that he noticed Kakashi’s presence, however. That just confirmed something else that Kakashi had started to suspect: Iruka was not a traditional sensor-type. While he could somehow sense Kakashi’s presence, it wasn’t infallible, or at least not always “turned on”, so to speak. If anything, it was as though Iruka had to concentrate and actively sense his surroundings in order to determine if Kakashi was there. This suspicion was given creedence when, a couple minutes after Kakashi had wordlessly appeared in his tree, Iruka’s eyes flashed open, a sudden breath expanding his chest as his sorrel gaze fixed somewhere around Kakashi’s neck. Then he smiled, slow and warm like heated honey, and lowered his head as he began to speak about how far his students had advanced in the last month. 

Kakashi didn’t notice his fists were clenched in a white-knuckled grip until a spider crawled across his glove, the light pressure alerting him to the arachnid’s presence. He glanced down, away from Iruka for the first time in a half-hour, and brushed the creature off. Kakashi consciously relaxed his grip, but he couldn’t relax the tense line of his shoulders, or the hard lump lodged in his throat, or the nauseous churning in the pit of his stomach. Iruka’s voice was drowned out to an indecipherable hum as Kakashi’s blood pumped noisily in his eardrums.

He tried to think once how many times he had seen Iruka here, total, over the years. At first, right after the Kyuubi attack, it had been perhaps a few times a week. As Kakashi’s rank in ANBU catapulted and Iruka found in his place in the community outside of being a notorious prankster, the meetings had lessened and become more irregular. Kakashi reckoned he saw Iruka a total of a dozen times or so up until that one day when Iruka had found Kakashi injured. After that, the meetings increased again, as the Hidden Leaf started to recover from the devastating loss of both many of their people and their Hokage. In the last few years, Kakashi had seen Iruka perhaps two dozen times. It wasn’t that many, if he thought objectively. Kakashi saw Guy more than that, even if a majority of the time he made every effort to slip away before Guy had the opportunity to accost him. He was averaging less than once a month, really, considering the length of some of the missions Kakashi undertook in ANBU. 

Yugao’s words had sparked something in his mind, and now the chill he felt seeped into him more intimately than the rain. It couldn’t be contained by flesh and bones, dripping into gristle and intestine and lodging itself like a shard in his soul.

What was truly important, Kakashi realized, wasn’t the number of times that he saw Iruka, but the number of times he _thought_ of Iruka: the number of times he wondered about Iruka’s students, or used that gray blanket that looked exactly like every other one Kakashi owned, and yet was somehow entirely distinct despite it’s uniformity. 

No, perhaps it was even something else. Perhaps Kakashi’s dependence on Iruka was not measured in numbers at all, but the strength of his emotions when Iruka came to mind: the barely suppressed chuckles when Iruka recanted one of his student’s latest pranks, or the anger that boiled under the surface when Iruka mentioned Mizuki and a frustrated, hurt look crossed those tan features. Perhaps it was measured in the warmth that filled Kakashi’s gut when Iruka smiled at the trees before speaking, or the desire, the _yearning_ to just reach out and _touch_ when the sensei was lonely and Kakashi could almost see the shadow of that devastated little boy from all those years ago. 

Or could it be measured by something else entirely? Perhaps it was the absences that were most important: the dreamless sleep on days when he saw Iruka, the way the cold nipped at his fingers instead of the blood and lightning that burned him so often in the years following Rin’s death. Perhaps most important was the quiet serenity of his sharingan, the way that it refused to overlay any images of corpses and lifeless eyes when Iruka was near. Kakashi still mourned Rin and Obito and Minato and Kushina, of course--he always would. 

But lately, the self-hatred he used to feel, so intense that he felt as though it was crushing his ribs and whatever meagre semblance was left of his heart, the utter condemnation that used to grip him when he visited this place--it wasn’t so strong anymore. Now, this place was an empty vessel to be filled with gentle smiles and soft laughs and the tantalizing warmth of untouched skin, instead of the ghosts that used to haunt it. 

It scared him. Kakashi knew what he was: Cold-Blooded Kakashi, Friend-Killer Kakashi, Kakashi of the Sharingan, the sharingan that he carried as a heavy responsibility instead of a gift. Kakashi had made terrible mistakes. He couldn’t forget that. It didn’t matter if Iruka blindly trusted someone whose face he had never seen, or if those brown hands would feel as soft and accepting as Kakashi always imagined. It didn’t matter if Iruka’s light lit up this clearing like a lantern, illuminating the night with all the warmth that Kakashi never deserved to feel. That was just it; Kakashi didn’t _deserve_ it. He didn’t deserve peace, or serenity, at least not here. He deserved the ghosts that haunted him, the regrets and fears and recriminations that followed him in every waking moment, but most particularly those in this place, where Rin and Obito’s names were carved in stone as a testament to Kakashi’s failures. Kakashi deserved all of that. But he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve _Iruka_ , or the brief reprieve that the younger man’s presence gave to him. 

So he left. 

On Monday and Friday afternoons, that had somehow become the highlight of Kakashi’s time in the village, Kakashi could instead be found alone on the Hatake estate, surrounded by dusty books and family crests that were worth less than dirt now. Kakashi stayed there when he could, with only his pack for company. He stayed there, in the drafty house that stoked the blistering embers in his guilty right hand with a ferocity that sometimes made it feel as though Kakashi himself was burning alive. He deserved it. He liked it there, far from the temptation that was Umino Iruka. Because that’s what Iruka was, a temptation: the temptation of salvation. 

Kakashi still went to the Memorial Stone. How could he not? But he did it alone, and he stayed alone. He went in the early mornings, before the village awoke, and stayed until just before the Academy let out for the day. In other words, he went only when he knew Iruka could not. He didn’t sit in his tree again. When his mind’s eye recreated Iruka’s form sitting before the stone, he shoved it away by deliberately drawing on the sharingan and remembering all of the things he so sincerely wanted to forget. The first time he did it, his stomach had heaved and convulsed until he lost his breakfast on the ground a few yards from the stone. That was fine. It was what he deserved, after all. A small token of penance for the lost souls that would never again see the change of seasons. 

Even more than his determination for self-hatred, something else destroyed Kakashi, wriggled through his brain like a parasite of which he couldn’t quite be rid. _“Got someone waiting for you?”_ When Yugao had said that, Kakashi had immediately thought to Iruka, thought to his brown eyes and long hair. Then he had thought of Rin, who had waited for him at the gates to the village more than once, a happy smile brightening her features when he arrived. Then he had superimposed the latter image on the first. 

He saw Iruka’s eyes as dead and empty as Rin’s when Kakashi punched his hand through her chest. 

Because anyone that waited for Kakashi, anyone that Kakashi called precious, inevitably died by his hand. 

And Iruka was precious.

The blanket that he had once gifted Iruka, and that the chuunin had given back on a cold, snowy day, was shoved in the closet of his father’s old bedroom, along with family heirlooms and his father’s personal affects--things that Kakashi had never wanted to unwrap, and never had plans to again. Kakashi didn’t quite know why he didn’t just burn it with a katon. Well, that was a lie. Kakashi knew damn well that some part of him liked to hold onto the fact that the blanket existed, even if he couldn’t touch it, the same as the person he had once given it to. Iruka was somewhere in Konoha, safe within its walls, and away from Kakashi. Sometimes, when he was out on missions and the cold seeped into his bones and he considered just laying down and dying instead of keeping up the fight, Kakashi thought to that closet, to that blanket that represented so many things Kakashi wanted but could never have. 

He allowed himself that one small concession. After all, he reasoned, he had to stay alive. He had to show Obito the world, had to be the best tool in Konoha’s arsenal, had to protect the village that Rin had loved and the son that Kushina adored and the people for which Minato sacrificed himself. And if the idea of a single blanket in a closet back in Konoha was enough to motivate him to do that then, well, no one else would ever be the wiser. Kakashi couldn’t allow himself to indulge in things like forgiveness and happiness and the love of another person, no, but he could entertain the thought of a blanket and the warmth that accompanied it, as long as it made him a better soldier, a better tool, a better weapon. He could do that, because if he didn’t, he felt as though he might go well and truly insane, and then he wouldn’t be useful to anyone.

It wasn’t hard to avoid Iruka for the first six months or so. Not in the practical sense, at least. They ran in different social groups (if one could count Guy and Tenzou as a social group in the first place), had vastly different ranks and jobs, and Kakashi spent so little time in the village to begin with that it was very nearly easy to see neither hide nor hair of Iruka. Other than one unfortunate sighting in the market, but Iruka’s eyes had slid past him then as easily as they had done outside the Sharpened Kunai. After that, though, Kakashi took no chances, and he sent his dogs for supplies when he could. 

The problem came when Sandaime decided that it was high time for Kakashi to retire from ANBU and to take a genin squad.

For the first time in six months, fear struck through Kakashi, as vividly as it had when he first realized how Iruka had tainted the memorial stone. How was he supposed to take care of three miniature people? He had never gotten along well with children, even when he had been one himself, and while the idea of being responsible for other humans lives was far from strange to him, the idea of it being three relatively untrained twelve year-olds was less promising. The Copy nin argued, used every technique in the book to try and persuade Sandaime that he was making a huge mistake, but in the end, there was nothing he could do against his Hokage, and Kakashi was forcibly retired from the ANBU. 

He wasn’t a complete idiot, and he knew why the Sandaime had done it. There were the obvious reasons, of course, the ones that the Sandaime had said: The Third Shinobi War was well and truly over, and even most of the smaller skirmishes had died down by this point. ANBU was focusing on longer missions in enemy territory that included deep undercover work and intelligence gathering--nothing that needed such a strong fighter as Kakashi. His talents were more suited actual battles. He would be more useful, at this point, kept closer to the village rather than sulking around in enemy territory a few week’s journey away. 

But there were other reasons, ones that Kakashi heard even if the Sandaime didn’t say them. Kakashi had been taking more risks lately, putting himself in unnecessarily reckless situations if it meant even a modicum less of a chance of getting his teammates injured. Not three weeks earlier he had taken a rather nasty water jutsu straight to the ribs in order to defend Tenzou, who he knew damn well could have used his mokuton to block it with no more harm than using a bit of chakra. Kakashi hadn’t really thought it was a problem, at the time. His body had moved on its own as the combined image of Rin and Iruka’s twisted features flashed through his brain, the instant he realized Tenzou was in trouble. 

Tenzou had yelled at him afterwards, but Kakashi had tuned him out, focusing on the bracing pain in his side instead of his kouhai’s voice. As long as he wasn’t risking the mission, or his teammates lives, what was the problem? But looking back in hindsight, and after four days of lying on his bed and only getting up to use the bathroom and grab cold ration bars, Kakashi recognized the signs of depression for what they were. He had never thought he suffered from it himself, but he had memorized the psychological textbooks ANBU were required to read before entering the field, and he understood that he fit the clinical definitions. He could see now, with stunning clarity, the worried looks he had been garnering from Tenzou and Yugao, and he could easily surmise that one of them (probably Tenzou) had gone to the Sandaime with nothing but Kakashi’s best interests in mind. That didn’t make the demotion sting any less, though, and the idea that Tenzou might have had a hand in it made a bit of bitterness well in him towards his kouhai.

From squad leader of the best damn tracking unit the ANBU had ever seen, to regular jounin, lazing about his apartment and thinking of all the possible ways to prove to the Sandaime that he wasn’t ready to teach three young lives, wouldn’t ever be ready. Yeah, it was a demotion, alright, and Kakashi hated it. Technically, no one was supposed to know who was in ANBU and who wasn’t, but secrets were hard to keep in a village where information gathering was a way of life. 

Anyone with three brain cells to rub together could figure out that Kakashi of the Sharingan, who hadn’t been on the active duty roster since the Third Great Shinobi War and yet had somehow made it into the Bingo Books of all the great nations, had been ANBU. Not many people left ANBU after joining, hence why the tattoos were normally fairly good at determining who was in and who wasn’t. People tended to die in the service of ANBU well before they reached retirement age, and most shinobi that were injured so badly they would be disabled would rather die in the field and get their name written on the memorial stone than waste away in the village like a civilian. 

So, rumors abounded as to the reason why the great Kakashi of the Sharingan, the Man of a Thousand Jutsu, left ANBU. Luckily, Kakashi didn’t generally give a shit about rumors, and he was so antisocial that it was easy to ignore most of them, even if he sometimes heard the whispers as he passed by. It was amazing how good a deterrent to casual conversation reading porn in public was. He should have started doing it years ago. 

His first mission back as a normal jounin was a simple courier job, A-rank only because of the sensitivity and urgency of the material in question. It was completed in only a week, and a day after that, Kakashi was in the mission room waiting in the lines to hand in his report. It was the first mission report Kakashi had turned in to the desk since his days as a chuunin where he had led a few small missions before working almost entirely within Minato’s group. Minato had always been team lead and thus the one to file reports after that, and then Kakashi had been inducted into ANBU and any reports were made verbally to the Hokage himself, with written reports following on only some of the missions, and even then always turned in to the Hokage himself. Kakashi had forgotten just how annoying and tedious filling out written reports really was.

Guy had accosted him on the streets ten minutes earlier and was still going on about his Eternal Rival as the person in question casually ignored the green jumpsuited monstrosity and turned another page in his novel. Kakashi had gotten pretty good at tuning out Guy’s ramblings over the years, and the way the other shinobi in the mission room were watching them just made Kakashi all the more keen to stay in his own little personal bubble of Icha Icha induced happiness. Guy attracted attention wherever he went, but the presence of Hatake Kakashi was certainly drawing even more looks than usual. Kakashi could hear murmurs being passed around the room, but he didn’t bother deciphering them. He shuffled forward a few steps once the line moved, bringing him a closer to the chuunin at the desk. 

“--and so, I Challenge you to a most Manly and Daring competition, that will surely show our true--”

“Maa, Guy, we just got back from missions. Shouldn’t we wait until we’re back up to speed?” Kakashi waved a lazy hand to the dirt and singe marks covering Guy’s signature jumpsuit. Prominent muscles were peaking through in places where the fabric had clearly not withstood the heat of whatever fire-style jutsu Guy had been subjected to. 

The taijutsu master’s mouth dropped open and he held a hand to his chest in dramatic affront. “Kakashi! I’ll have you know, I am as Youthful and full of Vigor as--”

The line moved again and Kakashi stepped forward, holding out the mission scroll to the chuunin on duty without looking away from his book. “Yeah, yeah, but even so, I’m not. I’m still recovering. I wouldn’t want to dishonor you by fighting when I’m not at my best.” Kakashi lied easily, hand dropping to his pocket after the person on duty took the scroll. 

“Gah, Kakashi! You truly Value our Rivalry!” Kakashi had the horrible feeling that he would see tears of joy if he looked at his “friend” right now. “But really, we’re in the Springtime of our Youth, and--”

“Ah, excuse me.” A mild voice cut through Guy’s words and Kakashi’s entire body stiffened, barely retaining his signature slouch as his eye widened, darting up to meet maple brown. “Er…” Iruka looked down at the paper in his hand, squinting at something near the top before glancing back up to Kakashi. His gaze flickered back and forth for a moment, eyebrows rising before his expression slid back into banal pleasantry and he smiled up at the stunned ninja before him. “Kakashi-san, I’m afraid I can’t accept this.”

Kakashi blinked once, twice, three times, and then gave a small cough before trying desperately to clear away the lump in his throat. In the end, after a mildly concerned look from Iruka, Kakashi found himself able to intelligently verbalize his first genius thought. “Huh?”

Iruka’s eyes narrowed, lips tightening and teeth clenching in annoyance. It was an expression Kakashi had seen a few times before, although never from this short distance, and never directed at him. Kakashi could feel himself start to sweat beneath his mask as the room became all too hot and the milling bodies around him lapsed into silence. Or perhaps that was because his heart was just too loud in his ears, now that it had finally started beating again. When had Iruka started taking shifts at the mission desk? Well, sometime in the last six months, Kakashi’s brain supplied helpfully. 

“I can’t accept this.” Iruka repeated testily, shoving the scroll back across the desk to Kakashi. Kakashi’s gaze didn’t follow the movement, transfixed on Iruka’s expressive features. “It’s nearly illegible, there’s a doodle of a dog in the upper left-hand corner, and you didn’t even begin to fill out section 2-C. Please fix these errors before submitting it.” His tone was stern now, evidently unimpressed with the pathetic, messy puddle of ninja before him. 

“Oh.” Kakashi managed to say dazedly. How did words work again? His gaze finally dropped from Iruka’s to take in the paper that had been thrust back towards him. He should grab that, right? His body made no move to follow his mind’s orders. Several seconds ticked by and then a broad hand clamped down on Kakashi’s shoulder firmly, while a matching one grabbed the scroll from Iruka. No fair, Kakashi was going to do that. 

“Our apologies, Iruka-sensei.” Guy said brightly, all gleaming teeth and stunningly black bowl cut and stupid, working lips. “I’ll make sure he completes the forms Properly! You have it on my Honor as a Shinobi of Konoha!” He struck the Nice Guy pose, which Kakashi thought was a bit of overkill for this situation, and from the look on Iruka’s face, he seemed to agree. 

“Right. Well, thank you, Guy-san.” Iruka said politely. When neither of the jounin moved after several seconds, Iruka tilted his chin to indicate the people standing in a neat line behind Kakashi, none of which seemed too impatient to move forward and end this fascinating spectacle. “If you wouldn’t mind doing it out of the line, though, there are people waiting.”

“Of course, Iruka-sensei. We’ll be back in Mere Minutes with a Gleaming Report, or I’ll perform three hundred back-flips before Sundown!” Poor Iruka must not have had many interactions with Guy before, because he looked more than a bit bewildered. He was likely contemplating how exactly to tell the taijutsu expert that such a promise was by no means necessary, when Guy firmly steered Kakashi away, using the hand on Kakashi’s shoulder as leverage to control him when it became evident that Kakashi’s legs had no intention of cooperating on their own. Somehow, Kakashi and Guy made it to the far corner of the room, and the day’s normal hub-bub resumed around them just as Kakashi’s brain managed to make it back online. “Are you alright?” Guy asked in a concerned whisper, which was very nearly at the normal speaking volume of most non-Guy humans. 

“Fine.” Kakashi shrugged away Guy’s grip and grabbed the forms from him, looking around for a pencil before Guy shoved one into his hand. He set the form against the wall and started erasing the doodle of Pakkun mechanically. At least his mask hid his rapidly paling complexion and growing frown. Now that he was out from under Iruka’s absorbing gaze (and Kakashi could see from the periphery of his vision that Iruka was indeed paying attention to his next charge and not, in fact, still staring at the miserable ball of idiocy that was Kakashi), he was starting to hate himself for more than the normal things. 

“Are you certain, My Friend?” Guy’s voice was more grave than Kakashi had ever heard it, outside of battles and funerals. 

“Yeah. I’m just a bit distracted.” Kakashi’s eye curved up into a smile as he paused in erasing one of the most illegible kana. “Challenge me tomorrow, ok? I promise I won’t run away.” 

Grin firmly back in place, Guy looked positively thrilled. Unfortunately, Kakashi didn’t really enjoy making empty promises to Guy, so he probably wouldn’t be able to get out of that challenge tomorrow. Unless Iruka just so happened to have an available A-rank hanging around. Hell, Kakashi would even settle for a B-rank, if it meant he could take the time to mope in peace. Kakashi wasn’t even quite sure what he needed to mope over, but he felt as suddenly emotionally drained as if he had spent the entire night at one of those stuffy ballroom dances for the delegates he had sometimes been forced to defend, playing nice and listening to hidden meanings and thinly veiled, politically stated threats. 

When he had put at least two sentences in section 2-C and made the report look as good as it possibly could, considering the massive amount of scrubbing it had undergone in certain places, Kakashi turned back towards the front of the room. It was quickly approaching dinner time and the lines had died down significantly. Each of the three chuunin was currently serving someone, but there were no real lines. Kakashi started towards the one closest to his current position (which just coincidentally happened to be a female with no scar over her nose), but at that moment Iruka finished with a short jounin who promptly left, leaving Iruka’s as the only station open. Kakashi wondered if he could just pull his book out again and pretend as though he hadn’t noticed Iruka’s line was empty, but then he made eye contact with the ponytailed man, and Kakashi knew there was no way to get into another line without making it clear that he was avoiding Iruka. He could see it now, the entire village of Konoha buzzing because a mouthy chuunin had managed to put the Great Kakashi of the Sharingan in his place and send him running with his tail between his legs. Even if Guy didn’t notice, someone else was bound to.

With a resigned sigh that Kakashi barely managed to stifle, Kakashi fixed on one of his patented eye-smiles and stepped up to the counter in front of Iruka, shoulders slouched and posture purposefully relaxed in his normal, lazy style. Iruka took the scroll and startled unrolling it. “Ah, sorry about that. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Hatake Kakashi.” He introduced, raising his hand and giving a tiny wave in much belated greeting. 

Iruka glanced up at him, a bland, professional smile in place. “Umino Iruka.” He offered politely. Kakashi wasn’t quite sure what to do from there, so he brought the hand still raised in greeting up to scratch uncomfortably as the back of his neck as Iruka perused the form. After an awkward minute (well, Kakashi thought it was awkward, anyway, Iruka didn’t seem to notice him at all), Iruka stamped the scroll in approval before turning a warm, noticeably less stiff smile on Kakashi. 

“Thank you for your hard work, Kakashi-san. The Hokage left a new mission for you, let me get it.” He pushed off of his chair and turned to the filing cabinets behind the desks, rifling through a few scrolls laying on top of the nearest one. Kakashi took the opportunity to observe Iruka up close. He was definitely an adult now, all broad shoulders, tapered waist, and muscular thighs. Iruka was probably about the same height as Kakashi, perhaps a couple inches shorter. It was hard to tell exactly with a desk between them. A few hairs were fighting to escape his high ponytail, and Kakashi wondered, not for the first time, what Iruka would look like with his hair down. It was a sight he had never seen, even when Iruka had been a snot-nosed brat sleeping in front of the memorial stone. “Here it is.” Iruka plucked out an S-rank scroll with deft fingers and brought it over to Kakashi. “Good luck, Kakashi-san.” 

Iruka’s smile made it hard to breathe. It was close to the ones that Kakashi was used to seeing at the monument, the ones saved for only Kakashi and the dead. It was genuine. Kakashi swallowed thickly and nodded in thanks before taking his leave wordlessly. He didn’t even look at the scroll until he was safely back in his apartment, confined between four walls that hid him from everyone and everything else. Except that little beetle crawling on the doorframe, but unless an Aburame was extremely intent on spying on him while he lay across his blankets and stared up at the featureless ceiling while regretting all of his life choices, Kakashi doubted it constituted a serious risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit longer than the others, but it contained a pretty important transition in Kakashi's life, and his relationship with Iruka, so I hope it kept you all reading until the end. I should hopefully have the next chapter up tomorrow. 
> 
> Also, I hope the transition between serious and humorous wasn't too drastic. This fic obviously revolves around fairly serious subject matter, but I like to bring little points of levity in the midst of things. I think Kakashi's character particularly lends itself to such a writing style, with his forced lackadaisical personality.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a vague description of heterosexual intercourse. It's not explicit, but it is there. 
> 
> Thank you once again for all of your beautiful comments! I can't wait to respond to them and hear your thoughts on this chapter!

It would have been all too easy after that to just avoid Iruka entirely. As long as Kakashi went to the mission room while the Academy was in session, he could be fairly certain that he wouldn’t run across the brunette. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do that, though. Perhaps it was just the idea of running away in the first place that Kakashi disliked, but if he were to be honest with himself, that wasn’t it. After all, Kakashi had no problems using a hasty shunshin to get away from people visiting the memorial stone, or just staying locked inside his room when socializing with the other jounin felt like far too much. A strategic retreat was sometimes necessary. But while Kakashi managed to continue his avoidance of Iruka at the memorial stone itself, it was a very different story in the mission room. 

Kakashi handed in his reports almost solely to Iruka. They never spoke beyond Iruka’s polite “Welcome back” and “Thank you for your hard work,” except when Iruka berated him for his awful handwriting. Perhaps Kakashi was a masochist, because his heart beat unusually fast every time Iruka scolded him, and he never tried too hard to fix his sloppy penmanship. Really, Kakashi knew, he just enjoyed the few minutes a week in which Iruka paid attention solely to him, even if it probably made the chuunin a bit more irritated with him each time. Iruka never flat out yelled at him the way Kakashi saw him do to a few jounin who were blatantly disrespectful of the lower ranks, but Iruka didn’t exactly mince his words, either. 

Though Kakashi many times considered starting a real, civil conversation, he could never come up with any actual reason to do so. They had nothing in common, and talking about the weather was the sort of social horror that gave introverts like Kakashi nightmares. He wanted to show that he wasn’t quite the nonverbal idiot he had seemed when he turned in that first report, but all he managed was an occasional “Have a good evening, Iruka-sensei.” Clearly, small talk was not his forte, not like slitting throats or slicing through tendons. 

Part of Kakashi was glad for his own ineptitude, because the routine they had established was a comfortable one, for all that it lacked intimacy. He told himself that just getting to see Iruka’s varied facial expressions from up close instead of a hundred feet away through tree and brush was enough. It should make up for the way Kakashi missed Iruka’s voice, missed listening to him prattle about his day and his students and things that would have been insignificant or boring to most people. 

Kakashi could finally talk to Iruka, like an actual person instead of a shadow, and ask all the questions he wanted. Except that he was a stranger now, and he wasn’t sure how to become something more, or if it was even possible. Sometimes Iruka was in a powerfully bad mood, and Kakashi knew that, if he appeared at the memorial stone that day, Iruka would flush in annoyance and rant as he moved his hands in strong, exaggerated gestures. It was tempting. So very tempting. But Kakashi never did anything outside of the comfortable, impersonal routine at the mission desk. 

Like this, there were no expectations, no ghosts forgotten, and no chance of being hurt, for either of them. It was safe. 

Iruka normally worked Tuesday afternoons, and his week-long break from the desk during Academy finals was officially over. Kakashi was sure of this, and yet the teacher was nowhere in sight when Kakashi stepped inside, report in one hand and _Icha Icha Paradise_ in the other. (It was easier to sneak peeks at Iruka without him noticing if Kakashi had the book as a cover. People naturally averted their eyes from anyone that read porn in public, Kakashi had learned.) 

He had the distinct urge to back out the door and come again later. The report was already late, anyway, it wasn’t like another day would do any harm, he reasoned. But one of the chuunin on duty had already spotted him and was waiting expectantly, and Kakashi couldn’t exactly claim he had forgotten his report when it was clearly in his hand. With no small amount of annoyance (and a grim determination to scout the room before entering next time), Kakashi made his way over to the chuunin he didn’t recognize and handed over his scroll, eye wandering back to his novel as the petite woman unrolled the paper. 

“Welcome back, Kakashi-san.” She greeted with a brief smile. Kakashi didn’t know her name, so he simply nodded in response. 

This break in his routine unsettled him. Her words were exactly the same as Iruka’s, but somehow they didn’t evoke the same feeling of homecoming. 

“Kakashi-san.” The woman suddenly repeated his name with a very different inflection. Kakashi glanced over the top of _Icha Icha_.

“Yes?” 

“I, um… I don’t mean to be rude, Kakashi-san, but this report is dated two weeks ago.” She sounded hesitant, like she wasn’t really certain if she was allowed to reprimand a superior, but she wore a frown and her eyes were steady as they bored into him. 

Kakashi blinked at her, lowering his book slightly. He leaned forward and peered down at the report in question. “So it is.” He agreed with a little nod, as if she had made the rather silly observation that blue-winged warblers did, in fact, have blue wings. 

She looked at him blankly for a moment before letting incredulity show in her tone. “Two weeks.” She stressed, and Kakashi suddenly realized she was waiting for an explanation. 

Did she seriously think there could be a good reason for turning in a report a full fortnight after mission completion? Iruka would have been halfway through an impassioned rant by this time. Kakashi felt rather annoyed at having been denied something he had waited an entire two weeks for.

“Ah… well,” He raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I would have turned it in earlier, you know, but I found a little orphaned squirrel under a bridge--”

“A squirrel--” 

“--and I’ve been knitting it clothes for winter--”

“It’s the beginning of summer--”

“I’m a very slow knitter.” Kakashi informed her solemnly. Her face mottled with red. Kakashi had just decided that it didn’t look nearly as good on her as it did Iruka, when an amused snort made his gaze snap to the side. Iruka flushed from his spot near the door, coughing into his fist abashedly like it would cover up his laughter. Kakashi watched, eye wide, as Iruka cleared his throat and slipped behind the desk, peering over the woman’s shoulder to look at Kakashi’s report. Kakashi’s hand dropped to his pocket where he surreptitiously dried his palm on the fabric, because the temperature of the room had suddenly skyrocketed ten degrees, along with his pulse.

“Sayuri-san, don’t be afraid to yell at him. Kakashi-san is a repeat offender, I’m afraid.” Iruka told the girl with a kind smile, patting her on the arm comfortingly. A spike of envy speared through Kakashi’s gut. Iruka’s lips pursed as he turned his attention to Kakashi, eyes narrowing. “As brilliant as your excuse is, Kakashi-san, it doesn’t quite make up for a report this late. It might not bother you to wait two weeks to be paid for your work, but it can cause us issues with the client if we don’t have a proper report filed on time.”

A second ticked by in silence. Then Kakashi nodded once, respectfully, eye crinkling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his lips. “My apologies, Iruka-sensei. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Iruka looked back down at the scroll, skimming through the contents. “Well, it’s a bit more legible than usual, in any case.” Iruka stamped the scroll approved and rolled it up before giving Kakashi a smile. “Thank you for your hard work, Kakashi-san.” 

Kakashi’s throat tightened. He turned to leave.

“Oh, Kakashi-san?”

Pausing, Kakashi looked over his shoulder. Iruka’s wide grin made his heart thud to a screeching halt. “I’m sure Hideko-obāsan from the market would be happy to give you some lessons. You know, get your knitting skills up to speed.”

The image of that smile, and the echo of that laugh, stayed with Kakashi for the rest of the night, and into his mission the next day, and the next. He was running across a swamp twenty miles away, boots squelching as the mud tried to suck him in with every step, when realization came to Kakashi, suddenly and without fanfare. 

He wanted to be the cause of that smile. Not just once more, and not as a casual acquaintance that never made it past formal honorifics. 

He wanted to see that smile every damn day of his life. He wanted to feel again the pride that welled up in his chest, knowing it was Kakashi who had caused it. He wanted that smile to only be for him.

Kakashi never was very good at “safe.” 

Iruka was like an addiction. With more time in the village now that he wasn’t doing month-long missions in foreign lands with ANBU, Kakashi suddenly found himself in need of a hobby other than reading smutty romance novels in the privacy of his tiny apartment. His eyes grew tired from being focused in close for too long, and he longed for the fresh air that used to be so plentiful when he was spending almost all of his free time at the memorial stone or outdoors on missions. Now that wasn’t an option, since Kakashi still refused to go during times when Iruka was likely to show up, regardless of any vague thoughts that might have been spinning through his head regarding _friendship_ , and _if Kakashi just so happened to show up at Ichiraku while Iruka was eating, would that count as getting dinner together?_

So, Kakashi started reading in trees around the village. A change of scenery shouldn’t have made such a big difference, but it did. The crisp leaves surrounding him and blocking him from prying eyes, the gentle breeze fluttering through his hair, the freedom to focus his eyes on the distance instead of four claustrophobic walls… it did wonders for his temperament, and soon enough, Kakashi started to pay attention to things outside of his novels (and Iruka). 

Eventually, Kakashi was surprised to find himself watching the villagers as they went about their daily lives. It was second nature for a shinobi to pay attention to their surroundings, even when absorbed in high-quality literature like the _Icha Icha_ series. That much wasn’t a surprise, and it also wasn’t a surprise that, after so long in ANBU, Kakashi found himself searching for suspicious people and signs of attack even within the safety of his own village. But Kakashi now realized that most of what he had done at the memorial stone, those times when he wasn’t alone directly after the Kyuubi attack, was “people watching”, and while no one would accuse Kakashi of being particularly sociable or skilled in the ways of subtle human niceties, he wasn’t an emotional moron by any means. 

Kakashi was introspective, often to his own detriment. While he had become adept over the years at ignoring some of his own worst tendencies, he knew most of his greatest faults and strengths, as well as those of others. Tenzou, for example, was surprisingly emotionally strong, considering how long he had spent as little more than a pawn under the thumb of others. Unsurprisingly, he also had a somewhat low sense of self-worth, something that he had worked hard on changing during his years in ANBU. While confident in his ability as a weapon, he tended to underestimate himself in other ways, and was often self-sacrificing without even realizing it. He also had a mother-hen personality, which Kakashi enjoyed teasing him about. The problem was, in recent years, Tenzo had learned how to tease back.

Guy was an interesting case. Most people would assume Guy to be naive to a fault, and while it was true that Guy could be oblivious at times, he was far from unintelligent, and he generally knew how people perceived him. Guy heard the way people spoke about him, even when it wasn’t shoved directly in his face, and Kakashi knew that, at times, it could hurt. But Guy took that pain and turned it into his greatest weapon, let it drive him to work harder and train longer. His preoccupation with rivalry and Kakashi was also more than just a childish enjoyment for contests, although that was part of it. He truly respected Kakashi, for whatever reason, and one of the ways that Guy reaffirmed his own self worth was not by winning against Kakashi, but by knowing that Kakashi considered himself Guy’s rival at all. People tended not to take Guy seriously, and the fact that Kakashi _did_ was enough to allow Guy to ignore the rest of the naysayers. 

As he watched the world pass by around him, Kakashi noticed things about fellow shinobi that he had never bothered to see before. For example, Genma was no longer sleeping around with anyone who caught his eye, although Kakashi hadn’t yet determined exactly who he _was_ sleeping with. Kurenai and Asuma were most definitely interested in each other, although they didn’t seem to have done anything about it. Raidou was far more observant than people gave him credit for. Aoba was a bit of a mess, spending half of his time attempting to woo a pretty but sharp civilian girl with outlandish boasts that she obviously recognized as lies but pretended otherwise for the sake of politeness, and the other half of his time was spent taking bets on whether Asuma and Kurenai would get together before or after she made jounin. 

No, it wasn’t that Kakashi didn’t understand humans--he just didn’t particularly like them most of the time, and he had no reason to get close to them. He had his persona as the infallible Kakashi of the Sharingan to keep up, after all, and Kakashi’s reputation did almost as much for the good of Konoha as did the missions he performed. It wasn’t just for the sake of scaring their enemies, however, or forcing the respect of their allies. The idea of the Copy Nin was important for even Kakashi’s comrades. While some disliked him, and most kept a reasonable distance, all respected his skill, and his presence on a battlefield boosted his comrade’s moral. 

That didn’t really extend to his personal life, however, and Kakashi did his best to keep people at a distance. Between his mask (people were always uncomfortable with those who hid their face, whether it was Aburame and their glasses or the type of half-face mask that Kakashi wore), his porn, his slouch and lazy demeanor, and his reputation, the only people that really dared to get close were Guy and Tenzou. Kakashi could live with them.

Most of the time, at least, but lately Guy had been able to discover his hiding places with suspicious ease. Kakashi was starting to wonder if his ninken were ratting him out in exchange for ribeyes. He wouldn’t put it past them. So Kakashi had taken to one of the large trees in the Academy’s yard, somewhere that he was sure Guy wouldn’t think to look for him. Hatake Kakashi, actively choosing to be around children of any age? The very thought was laughable. Luckily, the little miscreants were studying inside, so Kakashi didn’t have to worry about any stray shuriken making their way into his cozy tree. He kept his chakra bundled in tighter than Anko’s clothes after a full week of half-off dango, just in case Guy stumbled by or Iruka happened to use his weird semi-sensor skills to check for intruders around the school.

It just so happened that this particular tree had an excellent view of Iruka’s classroom. It was a coincidence, really, and in no way influenced Kakashi’s choices. It was hard to concentrate on _Icha Icha_ for some reason, though. Kakashi figured it was the heat. Summer had slithered into the village along with oppressive humidity, and abnormally pale shinobi in nose-to-toe clothes were rather easily affected. Sweat beaded on Kakashi’s upper lip only to be absorbed by his mask. The damp fabric clung uncomfortably to his neck. Perspiration accumulated behind Kakashi’s knees and trickled down until it was caught by the material of his pants. The standard-issue flak vest felt far too thick and heavy against his chest. Kakashi longed to take it off, but that would require moving, and it was too hot to even contemplate such a thing. 

The inside of the classroom wasn’t much cooler than outdoors, from the looks of things. He had a better vantage point now than he normally did at the memorial stone. He could see a clear drop slide down the smooth skin at the nape of Iruka’s neck, travelling through the short, fine hairs there before getting caught in the collar of his shirt. The children seemed lethargic, some resting against windows or melting into their desks like wax. Iruka had his back to the class, drawing on the chalkboard, and thus didn’t notice when an orange blob started surreptitiously sliding one of the windows open. The blonde must have made some noise, or else Iruka just had a sixth sense for trouble makers, because he suddenly his arm shot out and, without looking, managed to fling the chalk he was holding directly at the kid’s nose. 

Through the now partially open window Kakashi could hear the brat whining, batting away chalk dust from his face, and Iruka’s booming voice as he laid into the kid. Iruka’s face was a brilliant scarlet now, though Kakashi wondered if it was more from the heat than anger at the child’s escape attempt. The obnoxious kid crossed his arms over his chest and sat back into his seat grumpily, clearly tuning out Iruka’s rant. 

Now that Kakashi looked more closely, he recognized the boy. Or recognized his hair, anyway. Minato’s son, and now the Kyuubi’s jinchuuriki. Kakashi hadn’t realized the boy was in the Academy, but now that he did the math, he must be about the right age. Vague feelings of guilt and unrest bubbled up, as they always did when he thought of Minato-sensei’s son. Kakashi had only been barely a teenager when Naruto was born, and most of the years since had been spent in ANBU with only brief times in the village itself. It wasn’t as though he could have done anything for the boy, he knew. Kakashi was certain he was awful with children, and he was messed up enough himself that he couldn’t have possibly helped contribute to the mental stability of another. It was better for Naruto’s sake if he kept his distance. Kakashi knew that, but it didn’t change that he always felt as though he was letting his sensei down, every time he visited the memorial stone and had nothing to tell Minato and Kushina about their only child.

Jiraiya was the boy’s Godfather essentially, wasn’t he? That old bastard had never truly come back after the Kyuubi attack, and Kakashi doubted he had even seen his Godson. The Sandaime would have made sure Naruto was taken care of, though, even if the perverted codger didn’t want anything to do with him. Just because Kakashi appreciated his books, it didn’t mean he had to much like the man himself. At least Kakashi didn’t peek on girls in the public baths. 

He looked at the other kids in Iruka’s class and recognized a number of high-profile clans. There were the trademark Hyuuga eyes, an Inuzuka with dog in tow, and a mini-Shikaku. After noticing the Nara, Kakashi looked and spotted the hair of a Yamanaka and a boy that, if he looked very closely, resembled Chouza. They must have planned to have their children in tandem, Kakashi thought with a snort. No other way the infamous Ino-Shika-Cho combo would just so happen to all be exactly the same age. Well, it was obvious what team those three were going to be in after graduation. 

There were a number of other students he didn’t recognize, but he picked out what he thought was likely an Aburame, judging from the glasses and high-collared coat even in the unbearable heat. Finally, his gaze fell on the sole surviving Uchiha. There was another horror story. Itachi had worked under Kakashi briefly in ANBU, and Kakashi spent a good amount of time after that tragedy looking back and seeing if there were warning signs, some hint of mental instability that he should have caught. Ultimately, Kakashi just chalked it up to yet another one of his massive failures. Kakashi felt pity for whoever ended up mentoring the Uchiha boy. There were bound to be some psychological scars in a kid whose entire clan had been slaughtered by his own brother. 

Iruka had gotten all of the village’s biggest problems in one class, it seemed. It wasn’t terribly surprising, given the huge baby-boom after the latest war. Lucky him. Kakashi wondered at the kind of patience and mental fortitude Iruka must have to deal with all of that every damn day. Well, judging by the way he was currently yelling himself hoarse, perhaps it was less patience and more the ability to let out his anger in ways that didn’t end in a murderous rampage. Still, that alone was more credit than Kakashi would give himself, if he had been cooped up with all those kids for more than an hour. He would have taken Naruto’s tack and snuck out the window himself. 

Luckily, Kakashi’s first and second genin teams had failed. Kakashi kindly refrained from telling the Sandaime “I told you so” (because, well, he was still the Hokage, even if he was suffering a severe lapse in judgement by thinking Kakashi would ever be a good jounin-sensei). It wasn’t unusual for genin teams to fail that initial test after graduation, though, and Kakashi had truly given each of them a chance. Ultimately, each had failed due to the issue that caused most shinobi to give up before even taking on a single mission: a bad temperament. Not everyone was cut out to be a shinobi, even if they were born for it, even if they had the strongest kekkei genkai in the world. Sharp judgement, the Will of Fire, self-sacrifice, and a little bit of insanity, all had to combine in just the perfect amounts to equal someone that could truly be trusted not just on the battlefield, but with secrets that might break a nation. Most people severely underestimated the type of self-control it took to hold your tongue even under torture, and even genin were at risk of that. 

It was one of the most brutal things about being ANBU. ANBU were not only constantly in enemy territory, performing assassinations and spying for valuable intel, but they also had to sacrifice their entire sense of self. Along with the masks and the codenames was the knowledge that, if you were comprised, a member of your own team would kill you and obliterate the body rather than let you fall into enemy hands. Every ANBU was taught a jutsu to perform if they were held captive, one that would stop their heart and decimate the corpse before Konoha’s secrets could be given away. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Worse was when the enemy used chakra-dampeners or bound your hands quickly, when even the easy way out of suicide was taken from you, and you knew that you had to hope for your comrades to kill you before you could talk. Or, the absolute worst, and something he had personally experienced more than once: being the one to pull the switch on a teammate’s life. Rin had been the first, but not the last.

There was enough guilt in Kakashi’s soul for a thousand normal men, and he wouldn’t throw children into that. Not if they weren’t ready. Not if they didn’t understand teamwork and what it meant to function as a unit.

In some ways, Kakashi thought the ones that died were lucky. They didn’t have to deal with the bone-crushing guilt, the nightmares, the grieving loved ones. Then Kakashi forced his mind to shut up, because he would never truly know that until he was in the Pure Land himself. The idea never quite left his brain, though, and Kakashi had been on death’s door enough times to realize that he wouldn’t really mind too much when he finally walked through it. He was in no hurry to join them, but when it did happen, Kakashi would be worried about a lot more than his own life. Maybe that was the reason Sandaime pulled him out of ANBU. The old man had always been able to see things in people, the things that they tried to hide. It was what made him a brilliant Hokage and a formidable opponent in shogi. 

School let out and the kids staring pouring out the doors (or the windows, in the case of some of Iruka’s class). Iruka shouted something after them, but eventually gave up. Kakashi could see his shoulders heave a great sigh as he turned to the board, using an eraser to wipe it clean. His movements were sluggish with the heat, but economical, no move wasted. Kakashi wanted to see how that careful efficiency would translate on the battlefield. It was likely he never would, since chuunin and jounin were rarely sent on missions together in the first place, let alone Academy teachers. Still, with Iruka’s physique, it was obvious that he kept in shape and did more than just stand in front of a class or the memorial stone all day. Perhaps Kakashi could follow him and observe him on the training grounds...

That was when Kakashi realized the dangerous direction his thoughts had taken and shook himself out of his stupor. Picking a tree that just so happened to have a view of Iruka’s classroom was one thing, but actively stalking him was another, and something that Kakashi would not indulge himself in… not on a day as hot as this, anyway. Kakashi slipped out of his tree and set off towards his apartment, planning on nothing more exerting than laying naked atop his cool sheets. 

Kakashi’s routine stayed much the same over the next few months. He visited the memorial stone when he was sure Iruka was elsewhere, went on missions, watched people (Iruka) from trees, failed another potential genin squad, trained with his ninken to keep their tracking skills fresh, and turned in his mission reports to an Iruka that had learned to expect just about anything from the moment Kakashi walked through the door (or the window). While Kakashi never did figure out how to drum up a real conversation, he did start taking chances with the less important A-rank mission reports, whether it was just some smudged kana or managing to write the entire thing with alliteration. 

That one had caused another of those snort-laughs that Iruka tried to hide behind his hand. Kakashi counted it a success.

While Kakashi would firmly deny it if asked, he had started to settle into the swing of things around the village, and he felt something soothe inside of him that he didn’t know had been unsettled. Kakashi started looking forward to things, other than the release of a new _Icha Icha_ book, for the first time in forever. Even if it was just an Iruka Sighting (which had somehow started to become capitalized in Kakashi’s brain) in the market, or seeing a glint in doe brown eyes over the mission desk, or the way Iruka smiled at his students when he thought they weren’t looking. There was no other way around it; Kakashi looked forward to Iruka. Just Iruka. 

He allowed himself these small concessions, convincing himself that, as long as he didn’t let those feelings intrude upon that sacred place, as long as he spent all of his time at the memorial stone grieving and repenting, they did no harm. Kakashi could keep these precious moments to himself, when he caught glimpses of Iruka, and revel in the sense of comfort they brought. He wasn’t hurting anyone, as long as he didn’t take bothering Iruka too far. As long as he still hated himself for what he had done, as long as he still grieved and suffered for Obito and Rin, he could allow himself this. 

Like that, Kakashi’s days developed a soothing rhythm.

The summer festival was a lively affair that Kakashi hadn’t experienced himself in over a decade. He remembered Rin dragging him through the streets, Obito scowling at him and trying to force himself between them, Minato buying them dango and Rin politely turning her face away as Kakashi ate, even while Obito did his best to sneak a peek. Everywhere he looked around the lantern-lit streets, Kakashi saw ghosts. People bustled around him, buying goods from merchants or stumbling around, looking for an unoccupied bit of forest to have a drunken liaison in. The scents of food, sake, and people all mingled together, along with the mild smoke from too many firecrackers. There was a squad of water-users on call just to put out the fires that always sprang up on this night of the year. 

No one bothered Kakashi. Tenzou and Yugao were no doubt on a mission in ANBU, Guy had apologized profusely and explained that he had promised to take his new genin team to the festival for some much needed team bonding (not that Kakashi had asked Guy to go with him, anyway), and the Sandaime had refused to give Kakashi another mission until the next morning. He said that a bit of relaxation would help Kakashi. Obviously, he had finally gone senile, because surrounded by all these people, dead and alive, Kakashi wanted to vomit. His hands were burning. He stuffed them into his pockets as he pushed through the crowd. It was stupid to even come out tonight. He didn’t know why he had, really. Perhaps morbid curiosity. Then Kakashi caught a glimpse of a brown ponytail, and he realized the actual reason he was still on the streets. 

Iruka’s yukata was sky blue with thin horizontal stripes of darker navy, and tied with a midnight blue obi. His skin was pink and rosy from ambient lighting and possibly the flush of alcohol. He was grinning, cheeks dimpling as he took a stick of dango from someone with silver hair much longer (and tamer) than Kakashi’s. Kakashi didn’t even realized he had moved closer until he could hear Iruka’s warm laugh and something that sounded like “Mizuki,” said in a reproachful tone. He didn’t look upset, though, he looked… happy. Glowing. Forgiving. Warm. His hair was still up in his trademark ponytail, but his hitai-ate was moved, nothing obscuring his now bare forehead. The skin there was smooth, unsullied, perhaps a shade lighter than the rest, though it was hard to tell with the shadows from the lanterns. Kakashi was being drawn in like a fish on a line, pulled forth by the magnetism Iruka emitted. His heart beat too quickly in his chest as he moved closer, almost close enough to touch--

“Kakashi!” A female voice cut through the din and someone grabbed Kakashi’s arm. It was a show of his distraction that he only stiffened instead of reaching for his kunai. Iruka’s eyes darted to Kakashi. He gave Kakashi a polite nod and turned away, travelling with his silver-haired companion to another stall. He didn’t look back, even as Kakashi continued to stare. “I didn’t think I’d see you here! How ya been?” 

Finally looking down at the small hand clamped around his bicep, Kakashi saw Anko, a cheeky grin on her lips even as they closed around a dango. Kakashi really should have expected her here, of all places. “Maa, Anko, you know how it is. Just travelling down the road of life.” Kakashi forced a smile, eye closing with it so he wouldn’t have to see Iruka’s back disappearing through the crowd. His stomach had dropped down to his knees and there was a hollow, aching feeling in his chest. Anko observed him for a moment before throwing her empty dango stick into a nearby trash can and digging around in her black yukata. She triumphantly pulled out a little metal flask and shook it at Kakashi appealingly, one eyebrow raised in an offer. Kakashi latched onto the idea with the gusto of someone trying to drown their sins in shitty whiskey. 

Somehow, they ended up in Kakashi’s apartment. Well, Kakashi knew how. Anko had been all inviting touches and eager lips and soft bosom, and Kakashi had latched onto her, just as he had the drink. Her tongue had traced the line of his mask and drawn out shudders as it moved lower, beyond his waistband, and in the dim lighting, her brown eyes looked as sweet as maple. Her body was open and accepting, and Kakashi had driven himself into her with single-minded intensity, hoping to force away his own demons. It worked, for a while. With her slick heat enveloping him, Kakashi hadn’t once thought of Rin, or Obito, or Iruka. He hadn’t thought of lifeless eyes or bloody corpses or his own failings. He had just thought of the brilliant, wet embrace Anko willingly gave, and chased his own pleasure. Her moans filled the room, while Kakashi’s were stifled behind his mask and the teeth biting into his lower lip. Anko didn’t mind his absolute silence other than the harsh pants in her ear. She never did. It was one reason why she was a good partner, for nights like these, and why Kakashi had slept with her a half dozen times in the past. She didn’t expect pretty words.

It was the early hours of the morning when she left, just before sunrise. Neither of them had slept. It was difficult for most ANBU to literally sleep with someone else, other than their closest teammates, and Kakashi was no different, even if Anko was someone he knew and trusted. Anko understood this without him having to say it. She just borrowed his bathroom to clean herself up before getting dressed again in her rumpled yukata and crimson obi.

“Thanks for the fun, Kakashi.” Anko smiled as she stepped into her shoes. She walked to the door but paused before opening it, hand on the doorknob. When she looked back, she was still smiling, but her eyes were more serious. “I’m always around if you need me, you know.” Then she slipped out without giving Kakashi the chance to respond, the door closing softly behind her. 

It was just as well, since Kakashi had nothing to say to that. 

There were no romantic feelings between he and Anko. He had always suspected she might have had a crush on him back when they were younger, around their second or third time together, but if she had, she kept it to herself and got over it quickly. They weren’t ideal partners, in any definition of the word, and they both knew it. They were equally scarred, and even apart from their general inability to deal with emotional vulnerability, they weren’t perfect sexually, either. Anko was into bondage and domination, and things that Kakashi could see the attraction of, but he personally knew he could never do because he couldn’t allow himself to break down his walls. The fact that he had never taken off his mask in front of her was testament enough to that. She had never pressed him for it, though, and even without kissing, he was still able to satisfy her. So, they had slept together a handful of times, but that was it, and they both knew it would never amount to more than that. 

Some civilians seemed to think that shinobi were out there fucking like rabbits all the time. Sure, there was the occasional mission sex, lust bred from endorphins and adrenaline, and even Kakashi had indulged in that a few times. But in general, sex made a person weak, and vulnerable, and stupid. Kakashi had killed more than one person because they had let down their guard with sex on the brain, and he wouldn’t willingly put himself in that situation more than was necessary to stay sane. Outside of missions and post-mission sex, which didn’t count in Kakashi’s opinion, he could count the number of people he’d had sex with on one hand, and Anko was by far his most regular companion, even if they only got together once every couple years. 

Kakashi had needed this, though. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, nude except for the mask and hitai-ate covering his face. Even without the chakra drain, Kakashi would have never exposed his sharingan during sex. He doubted Obito wanted to see him get it on, and Kakashi really didn’t need his nightmares filled with the O faces of his victims. Although seduction missions normally didn’t require actual sex, since just the promise of an orgasm was enough to make most people drop their guard, he had more than once experienced the sickening feeling of releasing himself in another’s body, knowing it would be the last thing they felt. To remember their expressions eternally might have truly broken him. It wasn’t something Kakashi prided himself on, and he was never fond of using sex as a weapon. 

Still, like the good little shinobi he was, he did it when necessary. 

Closing his eyes, Kakashi tried to conjure up images of Anko in the throes of passion. He could objectively appreciate her beauty, even if he didn’t want to possess her as his own. He was too spent from two orgasms to even feel a twitch of physical interest, but he would rather wake up to a wet dream of her than the nightmares that usually haunted him. 

At some point, light brown eyes turned warmer, pupils enhancing their depths, and the dark hair that had spread across his pillow took on a different sheen, framing bronze skin instead of cream. When Kakashi fell asleep, it was to the image of a face flushed with ecstasy, red dusting barely-there freckles on a scarred nose. 

Two weeks later found Kakashi wandering through training ground three after failing yet another group of wanna-be-genin. It was the same training ground that had seen Obito tied to one of the posts many years ago. After sending the depressed students back home, Kakashi walked the short distance through the trees that bled into the memorial stone clearing, coming from the south instead of his normal route straight from his apartment to the east. Leaves squished into soft earth under the pressure of his boots. Stepping over a gnarled tree root, Kakashi’s eyes rose from the ground and then froze after registering unexpected movement. 

Something pale wavered at just about eye line, swaying and spinning in the gentle breeze from a twisted string tied around the tapering end of a very familiar branch. Kakashi’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as he took the last few steps to reach his tree, the one he had spent many days and nights in, but that had now been empty for well over a year. 

It was a paper tag, the kind that people used to make wishes during the festival. It was off-white now, the pure color dirtied from weathering the elements for the last few weeks, but the paper itself was still in relatively good condition. Swallowing thickly, Kakashi raised a shaking hand to capture the tag and turn it so he could read it. 

Written on one side in small, neat handwriting that Kakashi recognized from a chalkboard, was a simple phrase. 

_‘I hope you’re alive and well.’_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief description of masturbation, but again, it's not explicit. Thank all of you so much for your wonderful feedback! It's truly inspiring to read your comments. <3 This chapter is a bit lighter in tone than any others thus far, which I think is good because, as some of you have noted, Mizuki's betrayal is coming up soon, and that won't be quite so fun.

Never once had Kakashi imagined that Iruka would have cared about his absence. It was stupid, looking back on it, selfish. Obviously Iruka had known Kakashi was there, at least in the last several years, and he had trusted Kakashi with a significant part of himself. It might have seemed like nothing to most people, but to Iruka, Kakashi might have been a companion of sorts. At the least, he was someone that Iruka allowed to accompany him in his grieving, someone he spent time with, even if he never saw Kakashi’s face. 

To Iruka, Kakashi must have been someone that had patiently listened to his ramblings. Someone who _actually_ listened, instead of scolding him and moving on. It was obvious that Iruka had lived alone after the death of his parents, and everyone knew orphans were treated like burdens until they graduated and started fending for themselves. 

Iruka had never immediately turned tail after arriving, so he had apparently never actively avoided Kakashi’s presence there. That should have spoken for itself, but then there was also the easy way Iruka always talked, despite knowing that someone else was listening. He told Kakashi about his missions, his students, his worries about his ability to be a good teacher, and the way he didn’t get along well with one of his colleagues. Those words may have been intended for the dead, but they fell on living ears as well, and Iruka had known that. Looking back, it was remarkable how open Iruka was able to be, despite knowing a stranger was listening. Or perhaps _because_? Maybe those words had been intended for Kakashi more than he knew.

Kakashi had been so concerned about how Iruka had tainted the memorial stone for Kakashi, about how he personally felt about Iruka’s presence taking over the once sorrowful space, that he had never once stopped to consider how Iruka would react when his constant companion disappeared. It had now been well over a year since their last meeting. He probably thought Kakashi was dead, or at least on a deep-cover mission from which he would likely never return. From Iruka’s perspective, why else would an ANBU who had visited the memorial stone obsessively for years, never leaving for more than a couple months at a time, suddenly disappear? Because he was dead, or gone. 

And Iruka _cared_. He cared enough to write this wish, to find Kakashi’s tree and pray for him. He cared, and that shouldn’t have been a surprise, because Iruka cared about everyone he had ever met, but it _was_. It was shocking, because Kakashi had grudgingly recognized how important Iruka had become to him over the years, but he had never considered even a modicum of the same could be true in reverse. 

This single, simple sentence opened a world of possibilities under Kakashi’s feet, doors that he could fall through and get trapped in if he let himself linger on them for too long. What would have happened if he had brushed away Iruka’s tears, any one of those times he had considered it? What if he had just stayed standing there as Iruka approached, instead of retreating to his tree and watching from the shadows? Would Iruka have spoken directly to him? Would Kakashi have been able to admire that smile from only inches away, put his hand on Iruka’s shoulder, felt his warmth directly instead of staring at it from an immeasurable distance? What if Kakashi went to see Iruka now, what if he told Iruka it was him, that _he_ , _Hatake Kakashi_ , was the one Iruka had healed all those years ago?

No. He slammed that door shut and put a padlock on it before he could even be tempted to look inside. Kakashi was a fool, and hopelessly bound by Iruka’s unknowing hands, but he would never betray the orders of his Hokage by revealing his identity. Kakashi was a soldier above all else. He had chosen to give his life for his village more than once, and Iruka wouldn’t change that. 

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Kakashi felt as though his ribs were broken all over again. He looked down at his right arm, where under the black cloth he knew there would be a paper-white scar marring the skin that Iruka had tried to heal. Kakashi’s thumb rubbed against the rough surface of the paper in his hand, smearing a bit of dirt across the kanji for “well”. 

Was he well? Kakashi was alive, but could he truly say he was doing any better than he was when he left ANBU over a year ago? Was he more stable? Did he give any more of a damn about coming back home, to Konoha, for something more than just serving his purpose as an excellent weapon?

A scarred index finger slid under the thin cord and worked it loose, pulling it off the tree until Kakashi could hold the entire tanzaku in his left hand. He gently placed it in his pocket, careful not to bend it. Before he thought better of it, there was a kunai in his right hand. He stared at the dark bark of his tree, mind blank as he struggled to come up with words to express what he wanted. 

He thought of the way Iruka flushed when he shouted at Kakashi for a water-logged report, and the way Guy beamed when Kakashi finally relented to a challenge. Kakashi thought of his apartment, which looked far more lived in than ever, and of the many books that had started to accumulate on top of his desk. He would need to buy a bookcase for the Hatake estate soon to contain the cheesy romance novels he had branched out to after finally admitting he needed a break from rereading _Icha Icha Paradise_ for the seventeenth time. He thought of his pack, and how he had started spending time with them at the estate even when they weren’t training. He thought of Anko’s soft, pliant body underneath him, and the way he felt so at peace in his tree on the Academy grounds, watching Iruka lecture Naruto for yet another prank or attempted escape. He thought of the fresh fruits and vegetables in his refrigerator, enough to last several days, because he knew they wouldn’t rot while he was called out on a month-long mission from which he might never return. He thought of the spices that had accumulated in one of his kitchen drawers, every dinner more flavorful now that he spent enough time in Konoha to learn how to cook for more than just basic sustenance. 

When Kakashi had gotten back from his last mission, he had collapsed in his bathtub, sinking down until half his face was covered and his hair was plastered to his neck. His hands had still felt like they were burning, so he let them dangle on either side of the tub, the only part of him not absorbed by the blissful heat of the steaming water. But the burning hadn’t been too painful, and soon enough, Kakashi had relaxed entirely, able to focus on nothing more than a scene from his current book as he closed his eyes and dipped one hand under the water. He slowly stroked, taking time to pleasure himself, to do more than the perfunctory solo release of tension that had been his main outlet for many years, or the desperate, adrenaline-fueled fuck that cooled him down after a near-death experience. Kakashi had spent a half hour remembering what he liked best, swiping his thumb just so, teasing himself with a dip of his index finger. The gradually building pleasure in his gut had increased until it boiled over and he shuddered his climax into the water. If, at some point, the features of the male character had blurred and grew darker, a thin scar marking his face, well… It had been easy enough to pretend it never happened, after draining the tub and washing his sins away.

Kakashi remembered laying in bed after that, only clad in his mask, hitai-ate, and black sweatpants, pale, scarred skin illuminated and glowing with an almost unearthly light under the moon peering through his window. He remembered feeling something he hadn’t understood he had been missing: contentment, and the knowledge that, for at least the next few hours of sleep, he would be safe. And if he still woke from a nightmare, gasping and sweating as his fingers curled violently into his sheets, well… it was at least later than usual and the sun had already risen, bringing warmth into his tiny room. 

These were all small things, inconsequential to most, but to someone who had spent a decade of his life constantly surrounded by teammates he was likely to die for, the peace and quiet of being alone, being himself without expectations or responsibilities, even for just a few days in between missions, was more than Kakashi could have fathomed. It was freedom.

Yes, he was better than before. Kakashi wasn’t happy, perhaps, but that was alright. He had never lived his life with the intention of finding “happiness,” nor did he ever expect that such a fleeting thing would be possible to maintain.

Flipping the kunai around in his grip, Kakashi set to carving in the tree branch. The sharp, straight lines gouged deeply as they exposed the pale wood underneath the bark. It took a few minutes of a steady hand, and by the end of it Kakashi was afraid his kunai might never recover from the abuse he had put it through, but then he stepped back to admire his work, fingering the paper in his pocket. He hoped this would give Iruka the peace that Kakashi himself had been running away from when he decided to never again allow Iruka to consume his memories of the memorial stone. 

There in the tree, in the space previously covered by the white string, was a simple message, but one that he thought Iruka would understood. It was two kana, the ones that Iruka always wanted to see on the scrolls he stamped as approved. 

_‘Mission accomplished.’_

Nothing really changed for Kakashi after that. He still avoided the memorial stone during times when he thought Iruka would be there, and he forced himself to avoid his tree, as well. He didn’t know if Iruka saw his message, or what he thought of it if he did. Kakashi took out the blanket that he had once gifted Iruka and unfolded it, shook it free of the dust that had accumulated after so long of disuse, and then folded it back, with the tag and cord tucked safely in the middle. He returned it to the closet in his father’s bedroom and went back to his subtle not-stalking. 

Kakashi had been careful the few times he stayed in the tree with the best view of Iruka’s classroom, keeping his chakra close by and his limbs from the wayward glances of concerned adults. Kakashi realized that it wouldn’t be great to be caught spying on a pre-genin classroom too regularly, even if the real reason he was there was for a teacher and not any of the snot-nosed brats. (He knew he was sometimes called a “pervert” behind his back. It didn’t really bother him, but he didn’t think it was exactly accurate, either. Sure, he read porn in public, but he had never so much as made an untoward remark to a fellow shinobi. He wasn’t even close to the same league as Jiraiya, whose thoughts seemed to include little else but under clothed, barely-legal women.) 

The end of summer found Kakashi freshly returned from a mission, sleep-deprived and running on soldier pills, and he ran out of steam on his way to his apartment. He justified that taking a brief rest in a tree couldn’t do any harm. He must have gotten soft since leaving ANBU, must have started viewing the village walls as “safety” at some point, because Iruka’s dulcet tones lulled him into a sense of security and his mind started to lose the sharply honed edge that kept him going for days without rest during missions. His eyes drooped half-closed as he watched Iruka through the open window. 

He wondered if Iruka ever missed his ANBU the way that Kakashi missed Iruka.

When Kakashi suddenly became aware of his surroundings, his chakra was fluttering out for all to sense, and Iruka was standing underneath his tree and looking up at him with a faintly concerned crease between his brows. 

“Kakashi-san.” His hands were on his hips and the shadows of the leaves danced across his scar like butterflies. “Is there a reason you’re sleeping in a tree? And why you look like you got in a nasty fight with an alley cat?” 

Kakashi’s head tilted to the side groggily as he glanced into the window of Iruka’s classroom to find it empty. It had been some time before noon when he got there, so he had been asleep for at least a couple of hours. A glance at the sky confirmed that class hadn’t gotten out early today. At least he had suffered through the worst part of the hot day in blissful sleep, although now he was uncomfortably sticky with sweat and probably smelled like salt and iron. Barely-healed scratches littered the torn fabric of his jounin shirt. Iruka hadn’t been lying about Kakashi’s appearance. 

“Maa, you know, dogs and cats and all that.” Kakashi waved a hand dismissively and tried to separate himself from the trunk of the tree. A few silver hairs caught in the bark and Kakashi internally winced as they were wrenched free from his scalp when he slouched forward. 

“Mhm.” Kakashi thought he could see a smile playing at the corners of Iruka’s lips. A curl of pleasure twisted in his stomach. “And the tree?” 

“The cat chased me up. You haven’t seen it, have you? Vicious creature. Huge, aggressive. Wears a lot of green spandex.” Kakashi hadn’t actually seen Guy for almost a week, but he delighted in the chuckle Iruka gave at the description. 

“I think it’s safe to come down now.” Iruka said, smile growing full. Kakashi’s stomach gave a little flip, and he thought it was probably from not eating anything more than soldier pills that day. He had lost the last of his ration bars the night before in the tangle that had scratched him up. Kakashi scooted forward and slid off the tree branch, landing lightly on his feet only to find himself rather closer to Iruka than anticipated. Or perhaps he hadn’t misjudged the distance, but rather the _effect_ that said distance would have on him. Kakashi swallowed as he stared dumbly, forcing a slouch to his shoulders even while he wanted to stumble back a step. This was the closest he had been to Iruka since that one day, when Iruka had said… 

“I can help.” 

Kakashi blinked a few times, wondering if he was now hearing more voices than just Obito’s. Iruka seemed to take his stunned silence as a request for elaboration, and he gestured in the measly foot space between them towards the many little rips in Kakashi’s uniform. “The scratches, I mean. I’m not a medic, but I learned a bit since, you know, pre-genin and shuriken.” Iruka’s hand faltered before rising to tap at the end of his scar almost nervously. “But, uh, if you don’t want--”

“No.” Kakashi interrupted quickly. Iruka looked mildly confused, and Kakashi rushed on. “I mean, yes.” Holy fuck, Tenzou would be laughing his ass off if he could see this. “I’d appreciate that.” Kakashi finally settled on with a decisive nod, begging the Gods to smite him with a lightning bolt immediately for his painfully awkward social skills. Wait, that wouldn’t work, he had Raikiri, so maybe a--

“Alright.” Iruka’s expression cleared into a small smile as he stepped back, turning towards the school. “I’m afraid my classroom’s not air conditioned, but at least it’s somewhere to sit.” Iruka said a bit apologetically as Kakashi fell into step beside him. This time, Kakashi wasn’t crippled by broken ribs and blood loss, but he still felt dazed. He thought it was likely a combination of lack of food, sleep, and the echoes of a meeting from so many years ago, which Iruka’s close proximity and the reminiscent situation brought to mind. 

They were silent as they entered Iruka’s classroom. Kakashi paused at the doorway, taking in the room that he had seen several times from a different perspective. It had been roughly two decades since he had been a student here, and only for a year at that. By now had probably spent more time on the Academy grounds as an adult than he ever had as a child. Glancing out the window, Kakashi located the tree he had chosen for his spyi--reading. It blended in with the others in the near vicinity, and the branch where he normally sat was completely obscured by leaves. He would have to rethink his strategy in winter, though. Maybe a nearby roof? Or would it be too dangerous to risk coming back at all? Iruka might be on the lookout for him, after finding him today, and Kakashi wasn’t sure if the teacher’s sensory abilities would be able to identify his chakra as the ANBU’s. Kakashi wished, not for the first time, that he had clearance to personnel files, to see what Iruka’s technique really was. 

Iruka indicated the benches that the students sat on and Kakashi wandered over to the one closest to the door, back facing the wall as he sat on the corner. He rolled up his left sleeve until it sat just under his elbow, exposing a lean forearm marked with old scars and new stripes of freshly scabbed cuts. Iruka sat on the seat across the aisle, opposite from Kakashi. 

The wounds weren’t deep, and most of them wouldn’t even leave scars, but Kakashi supposed would be nice to forgo the normal itchiness of the healing process. That was merely a secondary thought, however. In truth, Kakashi hadn’t even considered turning down Iruka’s offer. Now, he wondered if perhaps that had been a mistake, because Iruka was far too close, and Kakashi felt much more exposed than he had nearly a decade ago.

Iruka took his arm in much the same way as he did back then, one hand cradling Kakashi’s unfortunately cloth-covered elbow while the other hovered just above his skin and glowed with the green of healing chakra. The first brush was gentle, fluid, and far less abrasive than it used to be. Iruka had certainly improved. 

“So, what did these?” Iruka asked conversationally, eyes fixed on the three worst marks that ran from the back of Kakashi’s wrist to a few inches below his elbow. They were deepest at the start, obviously defensive wounds made by claws. 

“Wolverine.” Kakashi answered, eye fixed on Iruka’s as they darted up to meet his in surprise. He hadn’t noticed before, but now he could see a ring of darker brown on the outer edge of Iruka’s irises, with small flecks of gold and amber near the pupil. Kakashi wished that he could bare the sharingan, just to see and record the finer details of those irises, because he was afraid he might never see them from this close again. 

“Summons.” He added by way of explanation once he realized Iruka was still looking at him questioningly. Iruka’s gaze quickly dropped back down. A few loose hairs stuck to his temples with sweat and Kakashi wondered how many times he had to redo his ponytail everyday to keep it looking so perfect. Kakashi had never seen him with his hair down, so perhaps he only did it in the bathroom. It was almost funny to think that Iruka might guard his appearance with his hair down as closely as Kakashi guarded his own face under the mask. 

“Ah. You have ninken, right, Kakashi-san?” Iruka asked politely. Kakashi wondered if he was uncomfortable with the silence or if he was actually interested in the answer. It made sense that Iruka would know about them, since he read a good portion of Kakashi’s mission reports now, at least a few of which must have mentioned his ninken. Or had drawings of them, as an occasional whim. 

“Mm. Eight of them. No doubt they’ll make fun of me for getting beat up by a wolverine, the brats.” Iruka chuckled, the smooth sound trickling through Kakashi like molasses. Goosebumps raised along his arm and he shivered despite the heat. Kakashi put that down to the soothing tingle of healing chakra and not the way that he could actually feel Iruka’s breath puff gently against the exposed portion of his upper cheek. There was silence for a few minutes, and it was almost comfortable, except for the way Kakashi’s free hand was sweating profusely against his pants leg. Things were going unbelievably well, though, and Kakashi wondered how far he could push his luck before he inevitably ruined the beautiful daydream. 

“You seem to be in a good mood today, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi observed. It was a simple enough statement, but Kakashi hoped Iruka saw it as the conversational opening he intended it to be.

“Do I?” Iruka asked mildly. His hand finally made contact with Kakashi’s bare skin, the pad of his thumb brushing away small flecks of dried blood so he could see how well the healing had taken. Iruka’s hand felt unbearably hot and damp with sweat from the heat of the day, but Kakashi couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Instead he craved more, watched in fascination as Iruka’s much darker skin contrasted with his own. Only pale pink scratches remained when Iruka finished clearing away the debris. He gently turned Kakashi’s arm in his grip, focusing now on another set of marks that started on the underside of his arm, just below his wrist, and trekked down a few inches horizontally. Kakashi could see the dark blue of his veins against the white of his skin, and he wondered dazedly how Iruka managed to be tan even on his arms, when he clearly wore long sleeves even in the summer. 

Kakashi’s heart was stuck in his throat. It took him a few moments to remember what they had been talking about, and then he had to swallow thickly before he could speak. “Well, you haven’t shouted or called me lazy yet. I think you might be losing your touch.” He had started pushing the envelope a bit after that first two-week late report, adding small errors here or there, doodles or other things that would irritate Iruka but not seem overtly disrespectful. He felt rather like a schoolboy pulling a girl’s pigtails to get her attention, but, well, it worked, and Kakashi couldn’t deny he enjoyed the way Iruka flushed red when he was annoyed or holding back laughter. 

“Do you want me to shout at you, Kakashi-san?” Iruka raised an eyebrow as his gaze rose to meet Kakashi’s. He really stopped breathing when he recognized the expression for something he had never seen on Iruka’s features before: teasing. 

“Maa,” Kakashi started weakly, clearing his throat before continuing. Luckily, his vast shinobi deception training kicked in and he managed to continue in a casual, light tone, even though he felt like he was suffocating between the oppressive heat, the tickle of Iruka’s breath, and the sudden tightness in his own lungs. “Everyone needs hobbies.” 

“And your hobby is annoying me.” Iruka snorted, shaking his head minutely as his lips twitched upward. “That explains a lot.” 

It probably explained more than Kakashi really wanted Iruka to know, if he were honest, so it was best to change the subject. “Did something good happen, sensei?” He returned the discussion to Iruka, because that was much safer than Kakashi and the questionable ways he passed his time. 

“I guess you could say that.” Iruka looked back down now, finishing up his work on those cuts and smoothing away the blood again with short, sure strokes of his thumb. Kakashi suddenly felt very envious of all of the children in Iruka’s care, who got to experience this probably much more than twice in their entire life. Spoiled brats didn’t know how to appreciate what they had. “Take off your vest, please.” Iruka dropped Kakashi’s arm and sat back, cracking his knuckles together as Kakashi tried not to mourn the loss of contact. Wait, his vest? Kakashi blinked before casting his gaze down and seeing a single long rip in the green fabric, over the ribs of his right side. 

“I bandaged that one. It’s a few days old.” Kakashi said. It was a shallow slice from a tanto blade, earned from a small skirmish at the start of his mission instead of the ambush from the wolverines and their master on his way back. He wondered how Iruka had even noticed the small tear, since he had changed shirts and managed to wash away most of the blood from his vest. 

“Let me take a look at it. Unless you would rather go to the hospital?” Iruka questioned, waiting expectantly for Kakashi to cooperate. 

It wasn’t stubbornness that made Kakashi hold out for a few seconds, but rather the sudden urge to run away, escape before he was forced to bare any more of himself to Iruka. It was a stupid urge. He had revealed much more of his skin before to medical personnel, and nudity was fairly common place on the field, when wounds had to be dressed and it wasn’t safe to leave each other’s sight. It just felt different in this room with Iruka, a relaxed setting that seemed much more personal and intimate than stripping down on the battlefield. It was a byproduct of how raw he felt emotionally around the chuunin, he knew, and had little to do with any actual physical state of undress. Kakashi finally decided he was being ridiculous, and he forcefully pushed down the cowardly desire to leave. It would be easier not to argue, in any case. He had a bad feeling that Iruka would insist on accompanying him to the hospital if he refused to let the man at least look at it. 

“You drive a hard bargain, sensei.” Kakashi finally relented, rolling down the sleeve of his shirt before reaching up to tug down his vest’s zipper. He shrugged out of the garment, letting it pool on the bench behind him. Curling his fingers under the hem of his shirt, he lifted it until most of his midriff was bared, revealing the square white bandage taped over his abdomen. His skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat from the summer sun and mottled in places by dark blue bruises accumulated from his latest mission. Kakashi rested his weight on his left arm behind him, reclining back. Iruka leaned forward, fingertips lightly brushing Kakashi’s skin as he peeled back a corner of the tape to check the wound beneath. Kakashi’s abdominals tensed as he fought the urge to squirm away from the ticklish sensation. Iruka didn’t seem to notice as he started methodically peeling away the rest of the tape. 

“It looks like it’s healing well, but I’ll help some so you don’t have to bandage it again.” The teacher said, setting the used dressing on the desk beside him. Then he leaned back in and hovered both hands above the wound, his chakra glowing to life once more. This position brought their faces a little farther apart, Iruka’s head lowered to examine the wound, which made it a bit easier for Kakashi to breathe again. It helped that Iruka was silent and completely focused on his work, eyes narrowed in concentration as a bead of sweat trickled down the curve of his throat. Kakashi licked his lips under the mask, tasting the salty perspiration that had accumulated on his own upper lip. He wondered if Iruka’s would taste the same. Iruka’s fingertips accidently ghosted across Kakashi’s flesh and the jounin tensed, breath hitching. 

“Sorry.” Iruka murmured, probably interpreting Kakashi’s reaction as pain from the cut, or perhaps the dark bruise that marked the skin just to the left of where Iruka was working. Kakashi wasn’t about to correct him. Iruka’s cheeks were lightly flushed from the heat. Thick lashes obscured his eyes from this angle as he looked down at his hands, silence befalling them once more. 

Kakashi focused on his breathing, steady inhalations that lasted for four beats, then exhaling for six. If he focused on that, it was easier to ignore ideas that had started swirling around his brain, ideas that had very little to do with healing.

The minutes stretched on until finally Iruka was done, leaning back and admiring his handiwork with a neutral expression. Kakashi looked down and saw the same sort of pale pink line as the other scratches. The wound had been older and cleaned properly, so there was no dried blood to wipe away this time, which seemed extremely unfair. Kakashi was impressed. He wondered, if Iruka hadn’t decided to become a teacher, if he would have tried for medical nin instead. 

“All done.” Iruka stood up, grabbing Kakashi’s old bandage and carrying it to a trash can near the door to the classroom. 

“Thank you, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi smiled at Iruka’s back as he let his shirt drop down, some of his own tension releasing along with it. He slipped his arms back through his vest. It seemed unreasonable to zip it back up, even if the sun had slipped below the zenith and the insane temperatures seemed to be lessening. Or perhaps that was just the effect of Iruka leaving his immediate radius. “I appreciate it.” He stood and took a few steps towards Iruka and the door, pausing several feet away. Now that he was no longer exposed, the insane desire to run had lessened, and he wasn’t so keen to end the first real social interaction he and Iruka had had without a desk separating them. 

“No problem, I don’t mind helping. But…” Iruka turned around, and there was a mischievous smile on his lips now, one that reminded Kakashi of his prankster teenage years, but on the mature features and sharp jaw of this very much adult Iruka. “If you want to thank me, there is something you could do.”

That was the start to no less than three different scenes in various Icha Icha books, and a half-dozen other cheesy romance (porn) novels that Kakashi had read since leaving ANBU. His heart was beating too quickly now, pulse jumping as his thoughts raced. “Oh?” Kakashi managed, hands curling into fists in his pockets. There was no way Iruka was going to say anything untoward, no way, but it didn’t stop the ideas from swirling. Iruka’s smile grew wider and he leaned into Kakashi. 

“Mhm. Turn in your mission report on time, intact, and legible.” Iruka’s eyes glittered. 

Kakashi was torn between amusement, annoyance, and extreme disappointment, the last of which he firmly rejected even as it rose above the other lesser emotions. “Or is that asking too much of you, Kakashi-san?” The chuunin added, a hint of challenge creeping into his voice, which Kakashi latched onto like Anko to a stick of dango, because it kept him from examining the idiotic track his thoughts had taken only moments before. 

Kakashi’s eye narrowed, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. “I think I can manage that, Iruka-sensei.” 

The next day, not long after the start of Iruka’s shift at the mission desk, Kakashi appeared with a perfectly intact scroll in hand. He got into Iruka’s line, despite it being two people longer than the other queues, and waited patiently for his turn. He saw Iruka’s eyes flit to him occasionally over the shoulders of the other shinobi, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as Kakashi just smiled. By the time Kakashi reached the front of the line, Iruka seemed almost wary. He took the scroll from Kakashi like it was a time bomb waiting to go off. 

“Hello, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi greeted cheerfully.

“Good afternoon, Kakashi-san.” Iruka replied, a small frown on his lips as he looked at the scroll for a cautious moment before starting to slowly unroll it. It was clear from his expression that he hadn’t expected Kakashi to even show up on time, let alone fulfill his promise in other regards, and he seemed to be anticipating the worst. Kakashi almost felt insulted. Instead, he was a bit giddy. Their last interaction had broken some of the tension he had felt in every encounter with Iruka thus far. The realization that they could, in fact, speak beyond the bare necessities, and that Kakashi had somehow survived such close exposure to the sun itself, made him feel reckless, brazen. He waited with a small smile on his lips as Iruka’s eyes scanned each and every perfectly legible line. 

“On time, intact, and legible.” Kakashi quipped.

Iruka’s expression slowly changed to one of dawning horror. This time the red didn’t stop at his cheeks, spreading to his ears and temples and partly down the smooth line of his neck. He read every line of the scroll and, when he finally looked up, it was to find Kakashi halfway out the window, perched on the sill as he waited for Iruka’s reaction. He would come back with another report later, one perfectly detailed and sure to be accepted, but he hadn’t been able to resist this temptation. Watching Iruka’s countenance now, he didn’t regret his impulsive decision.

“Kakashi-san!” Iruka’s chair legs scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, the abrupt shout making three genin behind their jounin-sensei jump in shock. Kakashi gave a jaunty little wave and slipped out the window, catching himself in the branches of a tree below. He could hear another mission desk chuunin talking to Iruka, asking what was wrong this time, and Iruka’s enraged response. “It’s in five different languages!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this time, but just a reminder that this story is set in the canon of the manga, so some anime-only things (like Mizuki's affiliation with Orochimaru) are not included in this fanfic. 
> 
> Also, I love all of you. Your comments seriously brighten my day, and I am beyond thrilled with the reaction this story is getting.

After falling asleep there, Kakashi mostly avoided the tree on the Academy grounds. Now that Iruka had found him there once, he was certain to check again if he started sensing (in whatever strange way he did) someone hiding out there regularly. Kakashi only used it a total of five times in the next year, and each day he was gone before school let out. On other days, Kakashi waited in trees conveniently located with other strategic places in view, such as Ichiraku’s ramen stand (it seemed as though Iruka didn’t eat much more than ramen, after all). 

He found one particularly large camphor tree which just so happened to be situated perfectly between the Academy and Hokage Tower. It seemed it was also along the route to Iruka’s apartment, since Iruka walked past after his shift ended each night. Kakashi valued the evergreen tree’s eternal coverage particularly once fall swept over Konoha and reduced his number of available hiding spots. The winter passed slowly, with Kakashi spending more time on missions and far less time watching a certain scarred chuunin, much to his chagrin. When they did interact, it was the same as always, with Iruka chiding Kakashi for one problem or another before accepting his report and thanking him for his hard work.

Nine days before the next Academy graduation was scheduled to take place, Kakashi took what was supposed to be a short courier mission to the Land of Wind, with the hopes that a timely sandstorm would catch him on his way back and extend the trip so far that Sandaime would have no choice but to assign a different jounin to whatever failure of a team Kakashi was supposed to be given. This was Iruka’s class, Kakashi knew, and he didn’t want a part of any of the little brats he had watched through the window over the last year. He also didn’t want to see Iruka’s disappointment when he heard Kakashi failed three of them. 

Kakashi managed to extend his mission by three days, mostly by dragging his feet and taking an extra night to rest in an onsen in Wind Country, but as much as he prayed to every known God for it, there were no unexpected attacks or natural disasters, and missing-nin didn’t ambush him on his way back to Konoha. He even stopped for a few extra hours not far from the village walls, just to give any lurking enemies a chance to pop a trap and hold him hostage for a week or two, but nothing came. Eventually the idea of his own bed drew Kakashi from the chill of early spring air, and he reluctantly checked in with the chuunin manning the gate sometime after the moon had fully risen in the sky. 

The two were barely paying attention, talking to each other in quiet tones and mostly ignoring Kakashi as they handed him the check-in sheet where Kakashi started marking the basics--name, rank, returning from a mission, et cetera. Kakashi knew their names only because of Iruka’s discussions at the memorial stone years before: Kotetsu and Izumo, he thought, though he still wasn’t certain which was which. 

“When does Ichiraku open?” The one with bandages over his nose asked the other with a frown. 

“Would he even be allowed to eat it yet? Yesterday they still wouldn’t let him sit up, so ramen may be off the table.” The other one replied quietly. Kakashi checked the box that meant no substantial injuries. 

“The Uzumaki kid will probably feed it to him.” The first one snorted. “He’s barely left the room since it happened. Come on, Izumo, gravely injured or not, Iruka can’t go three full days without ramen. He’ll go through withdrawal or something.”

“I don’t--” 

“What happened?” Kakashi interrupted sharply, surprising both of the chuunin into looking at him. They glanced back at each other uncertainly before Izumo gave the other a not-so-subtle shrug and Kotetsu spoke. 

“You’ll hear about it soon, anyway. Everyone’s talking about it. You know the Uzumaki kid, right?” It was an unnecessary question, so Kakashi didn’t bother answering. Every shinobi of age knew the Kyuubi’s jinchuuriki, by reputation if nothing else. “He stole the Scroll of Seals a couple nights ago.” Kakashi’s eye widened. He knew Minato-sensei’s son was a troublemaker, but that was a far cry from painting the stone faces or cutting school. “We were all assembled to go after him, of course. Umino Iruka found him first, and then... well, there hasn’t really been an official announcement, but everyone knows what happened. Mizuki, an instructor at the academy, apparently put the kid up to it so he could steal it for himself and blame Naruto. Iruka took a fuma shuriken to the spine protecting the kid.” 

A fuma shuriken. “To the back.” Izumo corrected with an unimpressed look at his comrade’s exaggeration. “It missed his spine by a couple inches. There’s some major damage, but he’ll recover.”

“And Mizuki?” Kakashi asked evenly, setting the clipboard down particularly gently to counteract the violent, murderous impulses flooding his system. Both of the chuunin in front of him winced and Kakashi made an effort to reign in his bloodlust before it caused alarm or, worse, drew the attention of the ANBU. 

“Naruto took him down, apparently, though there are a few different rumors as to how. I heard it was a hundred shadow clones--” Kotetsu started in a gossipy whisper, but a glare from Izumo made him pause. “Anyway, Mizuki’s locked up, definitely.” He finished lamely, and Kakashi didn’t wait for more information. He was on the other side of the gate and headed towards the hospital before the stunned chuunin could even blink. 

If Kakashi had been back on the day he was supposed to, if he hadn’t played childish games, he could have protected Iruka. Sandaime wouldn’t have needed to organize the shinobi in the village at all. Iruka would have never even known Naruto was in danger until the kid was safe again. If the Sandaime’s best tracker was in Konoha, Kakashi could have handled it himself. Pakkun would have caught Naruto’s scent in the room where he stole the scroll and tracked him straight from there. Iruka never would have been involved in the first place. And then Kakashi could have caught the fucking bastard, Mizuki, would have _destroyed_ him for using Minato-sensei’s son like that, for betraying Iruka and the village itself. If Kakashi had only finished his mission on time. 

Just another failure to add to his ever growing list.

Reality started to seep back in as Kakashi’s neared the hospital, and his pace slowed as he realized that he couldn’t just go barging into Iruka’s hospital room. First of all, it was already past visiting hours, and secondly, they weren’t exactly "friends." From Iruka’s perspective, they were acquaintances at best, and the only substantial interaction they’d had outside of the mission desk was when he found Kakashi hiding in a tree on the Academy yard. That didn’t exactly entitle him to visit a severely injured and likely depressed man who had just been betrayed by one of his best friends since childhood. What could Kakashi even _say_? What could he possibly do to help? 

How long it had been since he had seen Iruka cry? It must have been half a decade, probably before Iruka even made chuunin. No, he wouldn’t want to be seen like this, not by someone like Kakashi. They had spoken only a dozen or so times over the last few years, and each of those times (except the one) had ended in Iruka berating Kakashi for the state of his mission report. 

Fine. Kakashi wouldn’t visit him. But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a look, just to see how Iruka was doing. He just needed to confirm, with his own eye, that Iruka was alright. That was all.

It was surprisingly difficult to find a specific patient room in the entire hospital without asking anyone for information. Most of the lights had already been turned off for the night, and Kakashi had to recall his vague memory of the hospital layout to isolate the ward Iruka would likely be in. The burn, surgical, and emergency units took up most of the first floor, and the third was mainly comprised of offices, physical therapy rooms, and a few rooms for long-term (mostly coma) patients. That left the second floor for the normal cases, which Kakashi assumed Iruka would count as, at least after initial stabilization and surgeries, if they had been required. Kakashi had to bounce around various trees, trying to stay mostly obscured, while peeking into dark rooms. 

He almost jumped straight past Iruka’s room, he hardly recognized the man. 

Iruka’s hair was down, messy tresses falling just under his jaw and making his skin seem sickly pale by contrast to his normal russet complexion. The moonlight cast blue shadows across Iruka’s face. Kakashi couldn’t see if his eyes were closed or not, but he knew Iruka wasn’t asleep. The hospital bed was pulled into a reclined, half-lying position, and the sheets were tucked with a thick blanket up to Iruka’s armpits. Kakashi could just see the collar of a flimsy hospital gown covering shaking shoulders. Strong hands were fisted in the covers, trembling as they twisted the fabric so hard Kakashi thought it might tear. Iruka’s chest was heaving, breaths ragged and deep. 

Kakashi couldn’t see Iruka’s face, but he didn’t need to. 

Iruka was crying. 

Kakashi’s stomach twisted into knots. He adjusted behind the branches of the white oak, withdrawing until he was certain the entirety of his body was hidden by the thin, waxy green leaves. He could barely see Iruka’s shuddering form a dozen yards away, tucked behind a window pane and solid walls. Kakashi couldn’t hear his cries, but he knew they were there. He was intimately familiar with the sound of Iruka’s sobs, the hiccuping breaths and the watery gasps as tears collected on his lashes and leaked down cheeks that were no longer filled with baby fat. But Iruka would be quieter now, biting his lip the way he did when he thought he heard someone approaching the memorial stone. He would be trying so hard to reign himself in, to act like the strong and reliable Iruka-sensei the children loved, but Kakashi knew he was breaking inside. Iruka had never been able to hide his emotions, no matter what they were.

Kakashi was pathetic. He couldn’t do anything. He just stood there in the cover of the tree, watching as someone he cared about was torn apart at the seams. 

Suddenly, Iruka’s shoulders stiffened and his head turned to the window so quickly that Kakashi thought he might get whiplash. His eyes were still obscured by shadow, but Kakashi could see the faint glint of tear trails on his cheek in the moonlight, and he knew Iruka was staring right at him. Kakashi didn’t move, frozen in time, though he knew Iruka wouldn’t be able to see his face in the dark and through the leaves. 

Kakashi _wanted_ so strongly that it was a visceral ache in his gut. He wanted to crawl through the window and wrap his arms around Iruka, like he had imagined so many times before. He wanted to tell Iruka that he wasn’t alone, but that he wasn’t being judged, that he could keep crying if he needed to. Kakashi wanted to wipe away every single tear with his knuckles, his thumbs, his lips. He wanted to card his fingers through those long, dark locks, and guide Iruka’s head to his chest, because Kakashi would be his shoulder to cry on, if that was what Iruka needed. Kakashi wanted to do all of this, but instead he did nothing, because no matter what he felt, it wasn’t his place. 

_He had no place in Iruka’s life._

Then soft chakra flared brightly, fluttered towards Kakashi, caressing him almost questioningly. Iruka’s breaths were still deep and uneven, but he was no longer shaking, and he was still staring into Kakashi’s tree, expression unknown. Kakashi could barely breathe for several long seconds as that chakra brushed against him. Then, it was withdrawing, receding, and Iruka’s shoulders were slumped, and suddenly Kakashi could act again. He reached out with his own chakra, letting it unwind from the tight hold that kept it in his body, brushing against Iruka’s in turn, the way he had done so many times at the memorial stone. A shiver ran down Kakashi’s spine as Iruka’s chakra returned, meeting his own. 

They sat there for a long time. Iruka started shaking again, hands twisting in the sheets, and Kakashi stood there the entire time, allowing Iruka to sense his presence.

Crickets chirped, and wind rustled, and the occasional footsteps of passersby sounded on the street outside as people returned home from bars or missions or the homes of lovers. Slowly, gradually, eventually, Iruka’s shaking ceased, and he dried his eyes with the back of his hand. Around the time that birds started to sing and the sky started lightening with hues of pink and gold, Iruka’s chakra settled as the man himself drifted into a sound slumber. 

A breeze flitted through the tree, but Kakashi could barely feel it compared to the burning in his chest, his cheeks, his legs. But not his hands. Those, where they were clenched around the bark of the tree, were blissfully cool. 

Kakashi returned the next night, and the night after that. He couldn’t let Iruka see him, and he didn’t dare visit as Hatake Kakashi, but he did come, and he allowed his chakra to be felt each time. On the second night, Iruka once again cried himself to sleep. 

On the third night, Kakashi arrived just before Naruto left. He hid his presence and stood behind the tree’s thick trunk for good measure. He heard the window slide open, and Naruto promising that he would be back first thing tomorrow to help Iruka get home after being discharged. 

After Naruto was kicked out by an irate nurse, nothing happened between them for an hour. Lights turned off around the hospital, the day shift went home, and Kakashi concealed himself in his tree until he was certain everyone was gone. Then, he let his chakra unfold, enough for Iruka to sense him, and Iruka’s reacted in turn. Kakashi didn’t move from his spot behind the tree’s trunk. It was almost another hour later when Iruka finally spoke. 

“I trusted him.” His voice sounded rough like a rusty pipe trying to stand up to a sudden flood of water, leaking in places after years of disuse. It was soft, as well, so soft that Kakashi wished he could move closer, because he was abjectly terrified of missing a single syllable. 

Several minutes passed in silence before Iruka spoke again. 

“When Naruto said that Mizuki told him about the scroll… I didn’t even question it.” The monotone way Iruka spoke was hollow, devoid of emotion, like he was too drained to even feel the pain anymore. “It could have been a henge, someone pretending to be Mizuki to get Naruto’s trust. It could have been an enemy nation, or a missing-nin, using something like the Mind Switch jutsu. But I didn’t even consider that. I knew, as soon as Naruto said it, that it was true. That it was Mizuki.” 

There was the faint sound of skin sliding against sheets. 

“I already knew what he was like. There were signs. I just didn’t want to believe it. I deluded myself for years.” Iruka laughed abruptly, the sound so harsh and bitter that it stung Kakashi’s tongue like the taste of tobacco. “I trust _you_ , someone who’s face I’ve never even seen, more than my--” A harsh intake of breath, and then silence.

Kakashi waited the whole night, but Iruka never continued. 

Anko informed him the next morning when Iruka was released from the hospital, and Kakashi tried to appear as bored as always. He wasn’t quite sure he succeeded, from the suspicious gleam in her eyes as she told him Iruka would be cleared to return to the Academy in a few days. Perhaps he hadn’t been as good at reigning in his killing intent near Izumo and Kotetsu as he thought. Shinobi were vicious gossips.

Kakashi watched Iruka’s apartment that evening. He considered moving closer, sitting on the roof and offering what little comfort he could through his presence, as he had done the last several nights. Perhaps Iruka was waiting for him. Perhaps he would open a window again. But Naruto never left, and eventually Kakashi did. He spent that night in his own apartment, for the first time in days.

Some of it, at least. He tried to sleep but his brain wouldn’t turn off, and Kakashi spent an hour sitting with his back against the headrest, spinning a kunai through his fingers. Everything he had ever heard about Mizuki ran through his head in an endless cycle, a stream of information that led him everywhere and nowhere at the same time, useless tidbits from Iruka and the more important silences that had often fallen after a mention of Mizuki’s name. 

Kakashi knew that Iruka and Mizuki’s relationship had been tumultuous at times, fluctuating between very close and strained. He remembered particularly the period when Iruka had been made Academy instructor and Mizuki had not. It was the first time Kakashi offered Iruka the comfort of his chakra. Gossip now was that Mizuki secretly hated Iruka, had been jealous of his success, of his popularity and how quickly he had moved up within the Academy. Kakashi normally took gossip with a grain of salt, but this made sense with what he already knew.

Kakashi remembered Iruka smiling at Mizuki during the summer festival, remembered the flush on his cheeks that Kakashi had, at the time, attributed to alcohol, the hand he had laid on Mizuki’s shoulder. 

Now Kakashi wondered if it might have been something more. 

He wondered if Iruka and Mizuki had gone home together. 

The kunai embedded itself in the far wall, sinking several inches into the wood. Then he was out the window and racing across roofs, heading for one of the most remote training grounds. He dashed through the trees there, going at speeds so fast he had to expose his sharingan to keep from smashing into something. Kakashi’s fingers crackled with lightning. 

He wanted to _hurt_. He wanted to _kill_. He wanted to sink his hand into Mizuki’s chest, through skin and muscle tissue, through sinew and sternum, and rip through his still beating heart. 

Kakashi wanted to feel the life as it seeped from him, to look into Mizuki’s eyes and see the consuming, horrifying fear that would take over as Mizuki realized he was dying. He wanted to see regret there, wanted to see Mizuki realize it was too late to make amends for hurting two of the only people in the world that Kakashi still cared about: his mentor’s son, and his…

Well, Kakashi didn’t have a word for what Iruka was, other than _‘mine’_. 

Wood splintered and cut into Kakashi’s skin as his hand appeared through the other side of a tree trunk. Lightning sung through Kakashi’s veins. Static caused his hair to stand on end, a bone-white gash in the dark night. 

Two ANBU appeared in the trees on either side of him, hands on the hilts of their blades, masks cold and expressionless. Kakashi’s eyes flickered between them, the sharingan spinning slowly as his breathing slowed. 

It took a long minute for Kakashi to reign in his bloodlust, and another for him to retrieve his arm from the tree trunk. Thin rivulets of blood seeped through tiny cuts on his exposed fingers. Kakashi focused on the pain, used it to ground him.

He lowered his hitai-ate over his sharingan, and the ANBU disappeared as if they had never been. Kakashi knew they were still close, still watching him, but it didn’t matter. It they didn’t stop him, then he was going to continue his path of destruction until either his chakra or their patience came to an end.

Kakashi didn’t return to his apartment until almost daybreak, exhausted and drained. By that time, he felt almost sane. Almost. Sane enough that he was no longer contemplating breaking into Konoha’s prison to commit murder. It would have to do. Kakashi had seen people that allowed vengeance to control them, knew that was a path too dark to come back from. He wouldn’t fall that low. 

The cuts on his hand closed slowly, without the aid of chakra healing. Over the next few days, they served as a constant reminder of Kakashi’s failures.

When he was given the list of kids he was supposed to test for genin, he felt nothing but dismay. Minato-sensei’s son and the last surviving Uchiha. Kakashi didn’t know which of the students Haruno Sakura was, but he didn’t recall any of the girls in Iruka’s class being particularly troublesome (at least, Iruka seemed to yell at them less), and she wasn’t from a major clan, so he at least had a minor hope that she might be more well adjusted than either of the orphans. Those two, however, were going to be hell, even just for the day it would take to fail them. Grudgingly, Kakashi went to meet them at the Academy, and his first impression was far from good. 

Somehow, and he would call it miraculous except for that word implied something _good_ , all three managed to pass his test, and for the first time, Kakashi found himself saddled with a genin team.

He missed the meeting between the new jounin-sensei and the student’s teacher at the Academy. Kakashi showed up around thirty minutes after the starting time, just as the other two jounin were leaving. Asuma nodded to Kakashi as he passed and Kakashi returned the gesture, slipping into Iruka’s classroom just after Kurenai exited. Iruka was turned away from him, erasing the blackboard where he had written each jounin’s names along with the students they were assigned. The names were written only on the lower half of the board, and Iruka seemed careful not to stretch too high as he slowly moved the eraser across the smooth surface. Not fully recovered, then. 

“Yo, Iruka-sensei.” Iruka glanced at him in surprise, and then his eyes quickly narrowed in annoyance. He turned to face Kakashi, arms crossed over his chest and eraser still held in one hand. “Ah, it looks like I’m a bit late.”

“What’s your excuse this time?” Iruka demanded, fingers drumming against his arm impatiently. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were thin, as if he hadn’t been eating well. His hair was pulled back as always, but it wasn’t as impeccably done, and a few limp strands brushed against his neck as he regarded Kakashi. 

“Iruka-sensei, you wound me.” Kakashi complained as he leaned lazily against the doorframe, scratching underneath the knot of his hitai-ate. “I don’t use excuses. You see, I was on my way here--perfectly on time, I might add--when I saw this kitten fall into a storm drain. Then an unexpected and surprisingly isolated rain fell exactly on that one spot and started washing the kitten away, so I had to jump in the gutter and follow it halfway across Konoha, and--”

“And, inexplicably, you managed to stay completely dry in the process.” Somehow, Kakashi got the distinct feeling that Iruka was unimpressed with that Kakashi thought was a wonderfully elaborate and creative excuse. It had taken him an entire minute to come up with it. 

“Well, I am a shinobi, after all.” Kakashi smiled simply. 

“I feel sorry for your students, Kakashi-sensei.” Iruka sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the board and finished erasing until there were only four names left: Kakashi, and his three young charges. Kakashi grimaced, not only at the names, but at the new honorific attached to his own. 

“Just Kakashi.” He corrected.

Iruka ignored him. “So, your genin… You’ve already met them, so you have some idea of their personalities and abilities. Any particular questions?” He set the eraser on the bottom ridge of the chalkboard and turned back to face Kakashi expectantly. 

In reality, Kakashi had none. He had learned all he needed from the Sandaime and his own observations. If the Academy teacher was anyone other than Iruka, he wouldn’t have bothered to show up at all. But this was an excuse to speak with Iruka, as himself, and get a feel for how he was doing after being released from the hospital. So far, Kakashi didn’t like what he saw, but it was basically what he had expected. The weary lines on Iruka’s face stilled Kakashi’s resolve. He gathered up the courage shinobi were renowned for and made his offer. 

“Actually, sensei, since it’s already so late--”

“And who’s fault is that?” Iruka muttered. This time, it was Kakashi’s turn to ignore the remark. 

“I was wondering if you would like to get dinner with me.”

Iruka’s brows rose and his eyes widened in a perfect visage of surprise. Kakashi couldn’t decipher any positive or negative reaction in that response, which unnerved him. He continued quickly. “I’ve been training all day, and I’m starving.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, although ‘all day’ was more accurately ‘a couple of hours this morning.’ “We can talk about the kids while we eat. I’m craving ramen. What do you say, Iruka-sensei?” He smiled, eye curving into what he hoped was an innocent expression. Judging by Iruka’s narrowed, suspicious gaze, he didn’t quite succeed, but eventually the teacher nodded, turning back to the board and erasing the last few names. 

The journey to Ichiraku was quiet. Iruka seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, a small frown tugging at his lips. He walked slowly, each step carefully measured, as if large movements caused him pain. Kakashi started to regret his decision, thinking perhaps Iruka wasn’t yet in a condition to walk very far, but he made it to Ichiraku with no complaint. It was empty, and they sat down on neighboring stools. Iruka did so stiffly, keeping his spine perfectly straight to avoid tugging at his wound. 

Kakashi didn’t much care for ramen, but that hardly mattered. They ordered their food and then Iruka looked to Kakashi expectantly. “What do you want to know?” The question wasn’t rude, but it wasn’t quite as polite as usual, either. Kakashi wondered if it was exhaustion coloring his tone. 

“How was Sasuke as a student? He’s pretty advanced for his age.” Truthfully, if they were still in war times, Sasuke probably would have graduated at least a year ago, but age restrictions had been put in place after the end of the last Shinobi war, and Itachi going off the deep-end at the tender age of fourteen might have had something to do with that.

“Yes, he is. He has more chakra than most kids his age, and he’s the best in the class with weapons handling. He’s withdrawn, and a loner, but he generally doesn’t cause problems.” Iruka’s lips quirked into a small but tender smile that was clearly not directed at Kakashi. “He and Naruto will be difficult together, but they have the potential to push each other beyond their limits. I was hoping that Sakura would help calm them down when things got too bad.”

“Not so far.” Kakashi frowned slightly, watching Teuchi as he prepared their noodles. “She seems more interested in Sasuke than in training, at this point.”

“She definitely has a crush on him.” Iruka admitted. “But most of the girls do, so that would have been a problem no matter how I grouped them. She’s a smart girl, though, and her grades on paper were always higher than even Sasuke’s. The only place she lagged was practicals, mostly weapons training, and her chakra level isn’t as high as some of the others. She has good control, though, and picks things up easily. If she can find an area she’s really interested in, I think she has the potential to become an excellent kunoichi.”

Teuchi set down their food, and Kakashi was silent for a few minutes while they ate. Iruka never glanced at Kakashi, instead looking determinedly at a point off to his left. Kakashi smiled to himself when he realized Iruka was trying to be polite by giving him privacy to eat with his mask lowered. Kakashi still ate quickly, finishing his bowl and raising his mask back before Iruka was even a third of the way through with his. “I hear you’re close to Naruto.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Iruka looked back at him then with surprise. Kakashi just looked at him blankly for a moment before tapping the hitai-ate on his forehead. “Right. Shinobi.” Iruka looked away, a flush dusting his cheekbones. The color looked good on him, taking away some of the sickly hue that still doused his skin. Kakashi always marveled at how easily Iruka colored, despite his tanned complexion. It seemed the chuunin’s capillaries were as honest and reactive as the man himself.

“Mm.” Kakashi slouched on his stool, gloved palms resting on his thighs as he watched Teuchi wipe down the other side of the counter. “I think I’ve got a good assessment on his abilities, but I hear he’s a troublemaker.” Well, more like Kakashi had seen, but he wasn’t going to let Iruka know about his discreet information gathering from last year. That had been more geared to Iruka than his students, anyway. “Rather like you used to be, sensei. Any tips for handling him?” 

“I wasn’t--” Iruka looked like he was about to deny his checkered past, but realized it was useless. The flush stretched to his ears now and he rubbed at his nose as he looked down at the bar. Kakashi’s gaze dropped to Iruka’s mouth as the teacher bit his lower lip, hesitating for a few seconds before sighing. “He’s a good kid, really, he just needs some motivation. He gets easily frustrated when he doesn’t understand something, and he’s not good at sitting still. But if you give him something to work on, something to keep him occupied, he’ll put in his all. He just needs some positive reinforcement. You may have to explain something a few different ways before he gets it, though. He can be a bit…” Iruka trailed off. 

“Dense?” Kakashi supplied helpfully. Iruka shot him a glare. 

“He’s just better at learning practically than from theory, that’s all.” He corrected sternly. 

“Hmm. And you’ve never noticed his seal weakening?” 

“No.” Iruka’s eyes widened, confirming Kakashi’s suspicions. If the straight-laced teacher had noticed anything, he would have reported it straight to the Sandaime, who would have informed Kakashi before assigning Naruto to him. Kakashi decided it was time to broach the actual reason for his dinner offer.

“I heard about the incident with the Scroll of Seals.” A frown stole Iruka’s features, but he didn’t seem surprised this time. He must have expected the conversation to eventually come around to that, even if he didn’t seem terribly pleased at the subject matter. There was silence for a few moments, in which Iruka stirred his ramen noodles with his chopsticks without eating them. “Was he close to Mizuki?” 

“Not especially.” Iruka answered, picking up some of the noodles. They slipped off his chopsticks before he could eat them. His hands were shaking. Iruka set the chopsticks down and cleared his throat. “They were going to give him his first class this year, with Kiyoko taking maternity leave. Until then, he was just an assistant to all the teachers. He only met Naruto a few times before we--” Iruka broke off, eyes slipping closed. His shoulders hunched in on themselves, like he was defending against an attack. He took a deep breath before continuing, but his voice was remarkably even when he did. “Before the final exam.”

“Naruto trusted him enough to steal a forbidden scroll on his word.”

“Naruto trusted his teacher.” Iruka cut in sharply, and there was an undercurrent of anger there that Kakashi should have expected. Teuchi looked over at them, concerned, and Kakashi shook his head slightly. The man frowned but deliberately turned his back and walking to the far corner of the stall. Iruka didn’t seem to notice. He was busy glaring at Kakashi. “It wasn’t his fault.” 

Kakashi’s reflection stared back at him from the surface of his tea. He swirled his cup, dispelling the image in a series of ripples. “It wasn’t your fault either, sensei.” He said quietly. He knew he was broaching a sensitive topic, knew it wasn’t his place to tell Iruka anything, not when they were virtual strangers from Iruka’s point of view. If he could have said it as Iruka’s ANBU, he would have. But it needed to be said, by someone, and Kakashi could withstand Iruka’s anger, as long as he was certain that Iruka knew the words were true. 

No response came, and when Kakashi finally chanced a glance, Iruka was staring at him with an unreadable expression. His eyes were dark and moist, his eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks red, his jaw clenched. “With all due respect, it’s none of your business, Kakashi-sensei. You don’t know anything.” 

“I know.” Kakashi met Iruka’s gaze steadily, seriously. “Hindsight is perfect. There’s always something you should have done, something you should have said, something you should have seen. If you let them, those regrets will consume you. But in the end, it was his own choice. He could have chosen differently. He could have asked for your help.” Iruka was still glaring, and Kakashi couldn’t tell if his words were getting through. He looked away, bringing the tea to his lips and draining it through his mask. He lowered it, examining the dregs at the bottom. “Mizuki thought that Naruto would take the blame. He thought everyone would be content to think that Naruto stole the scroll for his own selfish reasons. He thought he could kill Naruto, and no one would care.” Kakashi set the cup on the counter with a soft clink. He looked back to Iruka and smiled. “Iruka-sensei... his downfall was not believing in you.”

Iruka’s face crumpled. He ducked his head and turned away. Kakashi pretended not to notice when Iruka wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. 

A few minutes passed, and then a group of people entered, chatting noisily as they took the seats on Kakashi’s side. Iruka pushed back abruptly. He stood stiffly and didn’t look at Kakashi as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. His bowl wasn’t quite empty.

Kakashi was faster. Before Iruka could do more, Kakashi was already sliding several bills across the counter, enough to cover both of their meals. “It’s my treat, sensei.” Kakashi said. His eye crinkled with a smile that didn’t reach his lips. Iruka still hadn’t looked at him. “I asked you, after all.” 

Iruka’s eyes were rimmed with red, but they were dry when they flickered up to meet Kakashi’s, for only a moment. In that moment, something in those irises were closed, expression shut off and unreadable. Kakashi couldn’t reach him. 

Then he turned, and Kakashi knew the discussion was over. He slipped off his stool and let dejection pool in his gut. He resigned himself to another sleepless night. 

Iruka took a step away, then paused. He didn’t look back as he spoke, and his voice was so quiet and fragile that Kakashi barely heard the words. 

“Thank you, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi watched, throat tight and warmth filling his belly, as Iruka walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mild self-harm content. I don't think it's strong enough that I have to tag it, but it is there, so if you're sensitive to such things, this is your notice. Things are pretty dark in this chapter and the next two, because of canon events, but I promise we'll get back around to more fluff! Troll Kakashi is not gone, just on vacation. 
> 
> This includes some text taken straight from the manga... Namely all dialogue except Kakashi and Genma's discussion at the beginning. 
> 
> Also, somehow I add another thousand words to this story every time I edit a chapter, so this fic is now sitting at 67k words instead of 58k, and I expect it to finish at around 75k-ish. I split this chapter into two because of the extraordinary length, so I've updated the total chapter count to reflect that. I should be posting the new chapter 8 tomorrow, hopefully, to make up for it.
> 
> Once again, thank you guys for your wonderful, amazing comments. I confess to reading them multiple times a day with a dopey smile on my face.

Hands full with his new genin team, Kakashi had no time to see Iruka again outside of the mission room, either as himself or the ANBU. He was observant, though, and watched as the shadows under Iruka’s eyes gradually lightened, warm bronze returned his skin to a healthy glow, and his ponytail straightened to as prim and proper as ever before. Kakashi wasn’t fooled into thinking Iruka was perfectly fine, or that his own words had much to do with the healing process Iruka seemed to be going through. But, whatever the reason, Iruka _was_ healing. That was all Kakashi could hope for.

Much to his delight, going on almost daily missions with Team Seven meant that he had plenty of mission reports to turn in to Iruka. Much to Kakashi’s chagrin, Naruto often insisted on following him, and normally monopolized Iruka’s attention so thoroughly that Kakashi didn’t even get to see that lovely spark of anger in Iruka’s eyes most days. In truth though, Naruto’s presence was less of a hindrance than Kakashi made it out to be in his own mind, because even on the occasions where he managed to get rid of the boy before showing up in the mission room, Iruka didn’t treat him quite the same as before.

It wasn’t a huge difference, and to most people, it would probably be unnoticeable. But Kakashi could tell that something about Iruka’s opinion of him had changed, and he had a bad feeling that the shift was to the negative. Iruka didn’t look Kakashi in the eye as much as before, and he appeared distracted, even forgetting to berate Kakashi for some of his more simple mistakes. Kakashi would have put this off to Iruka’s recent trauma, except that it seemed much worse when Kakashi himself was present. 

A few times, if they finished their D-ranks early for the day, Kakashi sat in a tree with a decent view of the mission room and observed how Iruka interacted with others. The chuunin wasn’t quite as talkative as before, and prone to spending long periods of time staring at a single report with an unfocused gaze, but he always settled quickly when spoken to. He smiled brightly, with open body language, and chatted almost the same as he had before the Mizuki incident. He also had no qualms about yelling at others for the states of their reports, if they weren’t up to snuff, and Kakashi witnessed more than one jounin fall to his wrath. 

Kakashi was the only one that made Iruka’s shoulder’s tense. He was the only one that Iruka looked away from, and the only one that he refused to criticize as harshly as before. Iruka was uncomfortable only around _him_. The only conclusion Kakashi could reluctantly draw was that he had overstepped his bounds, and Iruka was either angry with him and attempting to hide it, or just embarrassed by the entire conversation. Iruka had always flushed frequently in Kakashi’s presence, and it seemed to happen even more so now, but that could have been true with either motivation.

Further proof of Iruka’s newfound attitude towards him came when Genma stopped the jounin on his way out of the mission room. “Oi, Kakashi.” Genma greeted, grin stretching around his senbon. “You havin’ fun with those D-ranks?” 

The discussion stayed around light subjects for a few minutes before Genma dropped his voice, leaning in close enough to Kakashi that he worried about being punctured by the senbon aimed carelessly at his jugular. He resisted the urge to lean back. “What happened with you and Iruka?”

Kakashi scratched at the fine silver hairs at the nape of his neck. Genma was one of the most observant people Kakashi knew, and his appetite for gossip was unparalleled. Still, if he had noticed the shift in Iruka’s attitude, that meant it was even worse than Kakashi had thought. “Maa… what makes you think something happened?”

“He’s been staring at you since I got here.” Genma tilted his head and threw a wink Iruka’s way. Kakashi carefully didn’t look, but he could see Iruka’s reaction from his periphery. Red flooded his cheeks as he hastily turned to talk to someone else, failing miserably to pretend that he hadn’t been caught staring. 

“Maybe he just noticed my stunning good looks.” Kakashi suggested idly. He had known Iruka was staring, of course, but he had decided not to call the man out on it, to prevent further awkwardness between them. Too late for that now. It hadn’t seemed like a glare, though that didn’t help Kakashi determine what it _was_. It seemed… _considering_ , and strangely neutral, for someone as expressive as Iruka. Which only seemed to lend credence to Kakashi’s first theory, that Iruka was angry with him and attempting to hide it for politeness’ sake.

Genma snorted, and Kakashi wondered if the end of the senbon he kept in his mouth was sharpened or not. It would be easy to jam through the tokubetsu’s throat, either way. “He doesn’t seem the type to fall for your mysterious-perverted-loner charm.”

“You did.” Kakashi reminded him cheerfully. Then, because he didn’t really want to discuss the two times he and Genma had indulged in post-mission stress relief together, Kakashi took a step forward and dodged Genma’s senbon, speaking closely enough to his ear that the jounin and genin team standing to their right wouldn’t be able to hear. “And what does the rumor mill say about your latest lover? Because I don’t think they’ve figured it out yet, and I’d be happy to pay Aoba a visit later.” If anyone was a bigger gossip than Genma, it was Aoba, and anything said around him was sure to make its rounds amongst Konoha’s highest ranking shinobi.

Genma’s eyes widened and he flicked his senbon to the other side of his mouth, a sure sign that he was disturbed. “Fine. Point taken. Keep your secrets.” Genma shuffled off towards the mission desk to turn in his report, but not quickly enough to hide the red tinting his ears. Interesting. Kakashi didn’t actually know who Genma was sleeping with, but now he was almost curious enough to find out. Kakashi caught Iruka looking at him as he took Genma’s report, and Kakashi gave a jaunty wave before turning to the door.

So, as much as Kakashi wanted to ask Iruka to dinner again, with something more pleasant to discuss than their last topic, he didn’t. He would give Iruka time to heal, and then, perhaps when Iruka seemed to forget his grievance with Kakashi entirely (he hoped this would happen, because despite Iruka’s sharp tongue, he was not known for holding grudges), Kakashi could try to form at least a friendly acquaintanceship with the man. The type where they could sometimes get drinks together and Iruka would maybe tell him about his day without the memorial stone between them. It was Kakashi’s current favorite daydream. 

Well, perhaps not his _favorite_ , but the only one with any likelihood of actually coming true.

In the meantime, Kakashi was plenty distracted by his young team, and attempting to get the two boys to work together without coming to blows, while Sakura inevitably took Sasuke’s side and physically abused Naruto at every given opportunity. 

Ah, young infatuation.

Eventually, as Kakashi had known would happen, Naruto and Sasuke started getting impatient for bigger and better missions. He just wished they had picked a better place to do it.

Iruka was already in a bad mood that day, for reasons unknown, and he reacted poorly to Naruto’s complaining. Kakashi was unsurprised, but wished that the kid had better timing. Perhaps when Kakashi wasn’t there. “You idiot!” Iruka shouted, chair legs screeching as he stood to yell at Naruto from a standing position. “You’re just a rookie! Everyone starts with simple duties and works their way up.”

“But, but! We keep getting the crappiest missions!” Naruto whined. 

Iruka’s face was truly a brilliant shade of red, and while Kakashi was interested to see if steam would start coming from his ears at some point, he also didn’t want Iruka to think he was a bad jounin-sensei who couldn’t even keep his students under control. So, Kakashi smacked Naruto’s head, wishing he could knock some sense into him along with it. “Be quiet, you.” 

The Hokage took over from there, explaining the differences in the ranks of missions and shinobi. It was nothing Kakashi hadn’t heard dozens of times before, and it was easy to get distracted by Naruto’s abysmal eating habits. He wondered if he could trick Naruto into eating vegetables if he told the kid it was a training regimen to give him an edge over Sasuke. 

“Hey, listen!” Sandaime’s irritated voice interrupted Kakashi’s musings. 

“Ah, I apologize...” Kakashi said, rubbing the back of his neck abashedly.

“Geez! All you do is give lectures like that, but you know what?” Naruto never seemed to care who he was speaking to, using the same disrespectful tone even to the Sandaime himself. Kakashi really needed to break him of that. “I’m not the same trouble-making brat you still think I am!” 

Silence reigned. Kakashi was definitely going to get yelled at later for this. He hoped Iruka would take it upon himself to do it, instead of the Hokage. 

Kakashi had known Naruto and Sasuke were getting impatient for bigger and better missions. He had _not_ known the Sandaime would relent and actually _give_ them one, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it, although he was surprised that Iruka voiced no objections. After a few months of nothing but D-ranks, even Kakashi was getting fed up, and he welcomed the chance to stretch his legs a bit, maybe even take down a bandit or two. He did _not_ welcome the way he had to keep Naruto from killing their charge before they even set foot out of the room.

Of course, their mission to the Land of Waves turned out to be much more than a few simple bandits, and Kakashi’s team members came close to death more than once. When they finally came back early in the afternoon, after checking Sasuke into the hospital, Kakashi went straight to the memorial stone. The time he spent there was often almost directly proportional to the length of time he spent away from it, and after the several weeks they had spent in the Land of Waves, and the shit that happened there, Kakashi knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to leave anytime soon.

He stood in front of the pale rock for hours, and thought about the many ways he had fucked up over the years. He thought of his most recent mistakes. He thought about Sasuke, and how the only reason Sasuke was alive was because of the mercy of their enemy. The mercy of a child. 

A child that Kakashi had killed. 

Kakashi’s right hand burned so strongly that he was surprised to look down and see the skin of his fingers still attached. It felt as though it should have melted off by now with the intensity of the pain that seared through him. His sharingan had been open when he stuck his hand through Haku’s chest, and for most of the night, Kakashi saw that instead of the forest around him. Then Haku’s dark eyes morphed into Rin’s, and then Sasuke lying like a human senbon cushion on the stone bridge, and then the grief on Sakura’s face as she had laid across her friend. 

At some point, Kakashi dropped to his knees. 

All night these images flashed, and Kakashi let them. His hands burned even as the rest of his body ran cold. Lightning was hotter than fire, sharper than steel, and stronger than a warhammer. It stabbed every nerve ending from his wrists down until Kakashi could feel nothing but the excruciating pain, could see nothing but lifeless corpses and rivulets of blood dripping down his long, pale digits. It burned. It ached. Kakashi tore off his gloves and pressed shaking palms to the soft blades of grass in front of the stone. Dew moistened his skin, but he couldn’t feel it. He could smell the trees and the humid air that came with summer rain, but he couldn’t hear the drops as they fell around him, couldn’t see them for the crimson images clouding his vision. 

His hands slid across the ground, dirt collecting under short fingernails as he made trails in the soft earth. He wished he could bury his hands down there and never dig them back up. Mud made black smudges on his ivory skin. In the dark, it looked like blood. 

It soothed Kakashi, because now his hands were as dirty on the outside as they were on the inside. 

These hands had done terrible things. They had cracked necks and squeezed throats and dug into eye sockets and burst through hearts and lungs. 

Haku was the same age as Rin.

Was Obito’s eye crying or was it still raining? He couldn’t tell.

The sun must have set, because Kakashi imagined he could see his demons in the long shadows of the trees.

Kakashi’s fingers came to rest on the stone, finally, and it was cold like ice against his burning flesh. It stabilized him, grounded him, allowed him to think more clearly, even as the images kept coming. Mud streaked the stone, but it was washed away with the rain.

What could Kakashi have done differently? He could have turned back when those two shinobi first attacked, could have told the Sandaime the mission was too advanced for them, though that would have left Tazuna without protection. He could have turned back after they dropped their charge off at the bridge, too, and left the people to suffer under Gato’s rule. He could have trained the kids better, spent more time working on their individual strengths instead of just reading in trees while they wrestled cats and weeded gardens. Yeah, that last option was probably right.

Before this mission, before Zabuza’s attack had made Kakashi realize just how frightfully vulnerable his young genin were, he hadn’t taught them a damn thing. What a jounin-sensei he was. Minato would be ashamed of him. Sakura hadn’t been able to do more than hold a kunai the entire time, and Naruto had frozen at the first sign of combat. Sasuke was the only one who had even stood a chance, and that hadn’t been Kakashi’s doing--it was his own natural talent at work. Kakashi had done nothing but stifle that, letting them waste away on simple “missions” that amounted to no more than dog-walking or baby-sitting. 

The sun started to rise and Kakashi realized that Iruka hadn’t come to the stone, even though it was a Friday afternoon when he arrived. Did Iruka even come anymore? Kakashi didn’t know even that much. What had Kakashi been doing the last few years? Just wasting away? When was the last time he even trained himself, beyond the basics? When was the last time he pushed himself so hard that he felt adrenaline pumping in his veins, taking over his brain and sharpening him into a metallic blade for battle? Zabuza was strong, yes, but Kakashi should have been _stronger_. He should have been working harder. 

It was no longer Guy at his side, or Tenzou, or Yugao. Kakashi was no longer the leader of a capable team that had his back and could make their own decisions. Now, Kakashi had to be strong enough not only to protect himself, but three children who very well could have lost their lives under his command. He had thought he was strong enough, but he wondered now if there even was such a thing as “strong enough”. He wasn’t strong enough to protect his three genin, at least, and that was all that mattered. 

Most importantly, his genin had to learn to protect _themselves_. Kakashi had told them that he would never let a comrade die. Kakashi knew that wasn’t true. He’d had comrades die before, after all. Obito had been the first, but he certainly hadn’t been the last. ANBU wasn’t exactly the safest occupation, after all, and Kakashi had lost team members then. He had just wanted to comfort the kids, to give them the courage they needed to focus on the battle and do their best. But some part of him had been clinging to Obito’s words, thinking that everything would be ok, because he was different from how he had been back then. What a fucking joke. He wasn’t any different. 

Was this what Minato-sensei had gone through when each of his students died, one by one? How must he have felt after losing Obito, after having Rin snatched out from under their noses? Then Kakashi killed Rin, and Minato had been forced to watch as his last remaining student spiraled into self-hatred. Kakashi had barely spared Minato’s guilt a thought at that age, too absorbed with his own failures to even think of blaming his sensei, or that his sensei might be blaming himself. Now, though, Kakashi wondered. Minato had offered for Kakashi to join ANBU, but perhaps not just because he wanted to give Kakashi something to keep his mind occupied. Maybe, he had thought that ANBU would make Kakashi stronger. Maybe all he had really hoped for was that his last student would grow strong enough to protect himself, because Minato had failed to protect all of them. Maybe he just wanted Kakashi to live. 

Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura… each one of them had depended on Kakashi, and he had let them down. Not just in the Land of Waves, but before then, by not teaching them what they needed to hold their own in a real fight. They might be genin, but it was Kakashi’s job to turn them into shinobi. It was a job he had failed at, fantastically. Kakashi’s hands pressed against the memorial stone, but it didn’t completely chase away the electricity that licked his fingertips. Kakashi made his eyes focus, made himself read the names on the stone, one by one, the familiar lines flitting through his mind. Some of them brought faces to mind, some of them didn’t. When he got to the end, Kakashi knew one thing. 

He could not live to see his team’s names carved there. 

Hours later, in the shower, Kakashi tried to wipe away all the sweat and grime and mud and sins that caked his skin like sheetrock. He turned the water as hot as it would go and stepped under the scalding spray. It brought a flush to his pale skin, making the white stripes of scars stand out where they scored his muscles in chaotic patterns, gruesomely stark against the pink hue. 

Kakashi didn’t flush as prettily as Iruka. When he flushed, it took over his whole body in an ugly, ruddy color, blood seeping to the surface of his skin and highlighting all of his flaws and scars. Even as a four-year old, Kakashi had hated the way he flushed. His mask hid it well, along with his expressive lips, the way they twisted and stretched and betrayed his emotions. Emotions were a weakness unbefitting of a shinobi. That was what he had always thought.

But Obito planted the seed of doubt in his mind, and Iruka fertilized it. On Iruka, emotions seemed like a strength. Kakashi admired the way he so easily broadcast his feelings, wearing his heart on his sleeve as proudly as the hitai-ate on his forehead. Iruka’s emotions made him a compassionate shinobi, someone who would kill to protect their family, but could just as easily hold someone together. Those strong arms could comfort a crying child, or caress a lover. Iruka didn’t need a mask. He didn’t need to hide in the trees and shadows. He was proud of who he was. 

Kakashi so envied him.

He went about the motions of hygiene perfunctorily, raking across his scalp and working the shampoo to a lather before rinsing it out. His hair fell in a wet, lifeless mass over his sharingan. He rubbed at his neck and shoulders, the whipcord muscles of his biceps, his knobby elbows, and his forearms. 

When he got to his hands, Kakashi scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed. He worked at the dirt under his fingernails, cleaning them only to replace the dirt with layers of skin as he scratched at his palms until they were red and raw. Blood oozed from a fresh sore on his lifeline, and Kakashi watched as it turned the water red where it circled down the drain. The lye of his soap burned like hell when he used his sore hands to swipe quickly at his groin, hips, knees, legs, and the soles of his feet. The sting helped. Then Kakashi turned the water to freezing, and that pain helped, too. It shocked his system, making him gasp and shiver as ice-like shards stabbed through him and into the open wounds he had made on his palms. By the time Kakashi left the shower, his lips were almost blue, and his hands would need bandaging, but that was fine. It wouldn’t show under his gloves. 

Most importantly, his hands now burned from actual pain, and not the visceral memories of lightning and blood. 

For once, Kakashi’s mission report was on time, intact, legible, _and_ in the appropriate language. There weren’t even any doodles of Pakkun lining the margins, or hasty eraser marks wearing the paper thin in places. Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to play games with Iruka, not right after the Land of Waves, when Kakashi had failed so awfully in protecting the one precious person left in Iruka’s life. It was all too clear in Kakashi’s mind how close he had come to losing all three of Iruka’s students, and shame weighed heavy on his soul as he waited for Iruka to read through the report. 

His hands clenched in his pockets. Kakashi wondered if he would have to change the bandages after this, because he thought the ones on his right hand might have been bleeding again. He would have to refresh his first aid kit soon, if he kept reopening the wounds. Eventually, they would leave scars.

Iruka seemed unsurprised at what he read, though his brows furrowed in places, shock or concern showing through as he took in the dry, unemotional recounting. Naruto would have told him far more than was written there, Kakashi was sure. Eventually, Iruka picked up his stamp and thanked him. Kakashi nodded, but he had barely started to turn when Iruka spoke again. “So, is Naruto doing well with his teammates?” 

Kakashi blinked and looked to the side, shoulders drooping into a heavy slouch. “Maa…” This was their first conversation since their dinner together at Ichiraku that didn’t revolve solely around a report, or was mediated by an obnoxious orange blob between them. Any vague hopes that might have lingered about asking Iruka to dinner once more, without the ghost of Mizuki lingering over the conversation, were dashed by the shame that pooled in the pit of his stomach. He deserved worse than Iruka’s mildly strange behavior over the last few months. Iruka wasn’t looking at him with anything close to judgement, and yet, Kakashi felt as though he had failed the man. It was an awful feeling. “He’s doing fine…”

“I’ve been busy lately. I haven’t seen him since he got back.” Iruka rubbed at the edge of his scar. He sounded embarrassed, though Kakashi couldn’t imagine for what. For how much he cared about Naruto? Perhaps he was just uncomfortable with Kakashi’s presence. “I’m a little worried.”

“As you know, he’s with Uchiha Sasuke. Naruto sees him as a rival, and they still argue a lot. But the results are that they’re both improving greatly.” They had improved during the Land of Waves, anyway, not to any credit of Kakashi’s. Overall, his team was exactly as Iruka had hoped when he placed them together. Kakashi felt a bit lame, only able to repeat what Iruka surely already knew. He tried to add something, anything, that would assuage Iruka’s concerns. “Almost enough to surpass you.”

Kakashi didn’t realize how that could be taken until after he said it. Then, he froze, certain for an instant that he had made a horrible misstep. After all, implying that two thirteen year old children who had barely done more than capture missing cats were almost able to surpass a chuunin Academy teacher, well… it could be taken as an insult to Iruka’s skill as a shinobi. That wasn’t how it was meant, but coming from someone of Kakashi’s rank, it would probably be taken that way. He _expected_ it to be taken that way, but then Iruka grinned, and there wasn’t a hint of offense in that open expression. 

“Is that so?” Iruka asked, evidently pleased. Kakashi let out a deep breath, an answering smile curling on his lips. Iruka was too good. He didn’t have an ounce of foolish pride in him, not when his students were concerned. Kakashi had never felt more relieved to be wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the dialogue from the chuunin exam meeting is taken straight from the manga. The rest is my own creation. Thank you so much for your amazing feedback, and I hope you guys enjoy the next chapters just as much, despite the angst of everything that happens in canon.

When the chuunin exam was announced, Kakashi saw it as an opportunity to start on a better path for all of them. Kakashi had been treating his team like children, mere annoyances that he was forced to watch over until they were taken off his hands. He hadn’t thought he could be a good teacher, and with that thought in mind, hadn’t even tried. In truth, they weren’t children anymore. They were supporting themselves and, in the cases of Naruto and Sasuke, had been for quite some time. They didn’t need a teacher; they needed a mentor. 

Kakashi had been half their age when he had killed his first enemy, four years younger when he walked in on his father’s fresh corpse. By the time he was a teenager he had led platoons and stopped keeping count of the people he had killed, because he had realized that people weren’t numbers. The weight of taking a life was far greater than any number could ever attest. This was no longer the middle of a war, true, and perhaps it was a good thing that children were no longer required to kill so young. But, it would do them no favors to forget that they were also Konoha shinobi, ready to live and die by the Will of Fire. They had already come close to it once, and Kakashi would make sure that they were ready, when the time came for them to defend what was precious to them. Treating them like children would only ensure that they died as children.

So, he nominated them. Kurenai and Asuma did the same, and although Kakashi was a bit surprised Kurenai had the same mindset as he and Asuma, he was relieved. Until Iruka spoke up. 

“Hold on a second!” 

“What is it, Iruka?” Sandaime asked calmly, blowing a puff of smoke from his pipe as the chuunin took a few steps forward. 

“Hokage-sama, please let me say something. I may be speaking out of place, but these nine were my students at the Academy. Of course, they’re all very talented, but it’s too early for them to take the exam.” Iruka argued incredulously. He sounded in complete disbelief that Kakashi and the others would even consider nominating the children so soon. True, it was earlier than had been usual since the end of the war, and Kakashi knew that Guy had held his own team back a year. If he had thought about it, he would have known Iruka would have reacted exactly like this. “They need more experience. I can’t understand the jounin’s reasoning.” 

Turning to eye Iruka, Kakashi tried to interject. He understood Iruka’s mother-hen tendencies, and when they were in the Academy, perhaps that was appropriate. But they weren’t children now. They were ready for more. _Naruto_ was ready for more. “I became a chuunin when I was six years younger than Naruto.” 

“Naruto is different from you!” Iruka retorted angrily, voice raising beyond polite levels now as he took an aggressive step forward. “Are you trying to crush these kids?! The chuunin exam is--”

Kakashi was aware of the eyes of a dozen jounin and chuunin watching their interaction, waiting to see how Kakashi of the Sharingan would react to being questioned by an Academy teacher. Kakashi’s lips twitched behind his mask, pulling down into a frown even as he deliberately kept his one visible eye neutral. It had been a long time since his decisions had been questioned like this, and it felt worse coming from Iruka. If Iruka had just waited until after the meeting, perhaps Kakashi would have had time to think through his words, consider the best tact to take. Here, Kakashi was pressed, and anxious, and he so tried to deflect Iruka’s anger.

“They’re always complaining about the missions. Experiencing some pain may be good for them.” Kakashi drawled. He saw the livid red that mottled Iruka’s skin and knew that this was worse than any of those times he had turned in singed or late reports. Those times, Iruka had been annoyed. Now, he was well and truly angry. Kakashi had played off all of those other times with a playful word or misdirection, so he tried for humor now. “Crushing them could be fun.”

“What?!” 

Kakashi’s gaze darted away. He didn’t want to see the horrified, enraged expression that stole Iruka’s features as he took Kakashi at his word. 

He was abruptly and unceremoniously reminded that, although Kakashi knew Iruka very well, Iruka didn’t know a damn thing about Kakashi. That stabbed like a poisoned kunai to the gut, the knowledge seeping through him and leaking into every happy fantasy that had played through his brain in the last years, polluting them. 

_This_ was what Iruka thought of him. Iruka thought he was someone that would enjoy hurting children. 

“Maa… that was a joke, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi’s shoulders were slumped and his hands casually shoved in his pockets, like always, but even as his eye drooped in boredom, he felt as tense as on a battlefield. Bitterness and hurt combined like oil and fire, coating his tongue thickly. “I can understand your feelings. It must upset you, but…”

Something flickered across Iruka’s expression, something that looked between pain and disgust. He thought Kakashi was looking down on him, patronizing him, Kakashi realized. And that was the worst thing of all, because Kakashi respected Iruka more than anyone else in that damn room other than the Sandaime himself, and Iruka had no fucking clue. He just saw Kakashi of the Sharingan, the Copy-nin, Cold-Blooded Kakashi, Friend Killer Kakashi. A bitter taste filled Kakashi’s mouth like bile. He was caught off guard, and his emotions were overflowing. 

So he fell back on what he knew, what had been ingrained in him since he was four years old: the rules. He was a superior, being questioned by someone of lower rank. Kakashi let himself slip into that mode, because it was comfortable, because it was what Iruka expected, because it was easier than thinking about anything else. Because it was easier if he didn’t think about _Iruka_ , the person he had obsessed over for the last decade, but just another chuunin who was disregarding orders. Because if it was _Iruka_ , it hurt, and he didn’t know how to process that now, in front of the Sandaime and his peers.

“Kakashi, stop already.” Kurenai murmured, trying to keep him from making even more of an ass out of himself. Like always, Kakashi didn’t listen. 

“Stay out of this.” Although his expression stayed aloof, his voice was strong and sharp and cold as steel. “They’re no longer your students. Right now, they’re my soldiers.” 

Silence.

Kakashi saw the betrayed expression on Iruka’s face, saw how he physically bit his tongue to keep from responding, stepping back into line as the Sandaime continued. Kakashi turned his attention back to the Hokage, trademark lazy slouch perfectly in place even as his stomach churned and a headache started pounding in his temples. 

Well, he had destroyed any pleasant acquaintanceship or beginning of a friendship he and Iruka might have built, but he had probably already ruined that long ago. The entire interaction had just shown Kakashi how clearly he had been fooling himself. As ‘ANBU-san’, perhaps he had some relationship with Iruka, albeit a silent one where Iruka probably only thought about him a couple times a year. As far as Iruka was concerned, he could have been talking to a house plant for all the feedback ‘ANBU-san’ ever gave. A few brushes of chakra did not a friendship make. 

As Kakashi, Iruka probably had an even lower opinion of him. In fact, now that Kakashi really thought about it, without naive and hopeful affection coloring his view, Iruka probably actively disliked him. He was polite enough to treat a higher ranking shinobi with due respect, but it wasn’t as though he ever greeted Kakashi outside of the mission room, and any interactions they did have were shallow and mostly ended with Iruka flushed in annoyance. He had blatantly told Kakashi it wasn’t his business, the one time they had dinner together and Kakashi broached a more meaningful subject. He had thanked Kakashi at the end, but that could have been for paying for the meal, rather than his words. 

No, Kakashi had spent the last however many years trapped in a pleasant daydream where he was somehow close enough to Iruka to justify spying on his classroom and hospital bed. 

Fuck, that stung. 

After the meeting was over, Kakashi didn’t stick around to see if Iruka would give him a piece of his mind. He used a shunshin to escape through the window and then ran over rooftops, feet automatically take him to the place where all of this idiocy started. This time, Kakashi didn’t go to his tree. He didn’t want to see the message he had left for Iruka there, didn’t want to think of the tanzaku and blanket that he still had tucked safely away in a corner of the Hatake estate, like the pathetic, desperate man he was. 

Kakashi just wanted to forget, because he was foolish to have spent so much of his time fixated on someone who couldn’t give less of a damn about him. He wanted to be alone with Obito and Rin and the dearly departed. He wanted to remind himself of why he was doing all of this. It wasn’t for Iruka. It was for Naruto, and Sasuke, and Sakura. Minato and Kushina. Obito and Rin. He needed to remind himself, once more, that he was right to send them into the chuunin exam. And he was, even if Iruka didn’t see that. 

Kakashi stood there for an immeasurable period, staring at the stone. The sun slipped slowly past the zenith. 

His hands weren’t burning, and that was strange. For once, Kakashi wasn’t at the memorial stone because he needed to cool the lightning dancing on his fingertips. The memorial stone didn’t sap his body heat, but rather the rage in his stomach and the ache in his chest. In the wake of his anger and self-disgust regarding his foolishly one-sided relationship with Iruka, Kakashi felt bereft, hollow, empty. Hopeless. This whole thing was hopeless. _He_ was hopeless.

That was really what his interaction with Iruka had killed. 

His hope. 

As time slipped by, Kakashi came to think that perhaps he had overreacted. If there was nothing there to begin with, then there was nothing for him to mourn. 

There was just nothing. 

Nothing at all.

Still, it hurt.

Sometime after the sun had fully disappeared behind the trees, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. Kakashi considered using a shunshin to get away, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, and he couldn’t bring himself to go to that tree again. Not today. If he was lucky, whoever it was would recognize his poor mood and leave him alone. The person paused when Kakashi came into view, hesitating for almost a full minute before continuing. 

Kakashi knew who it was even before Iruka drew level with him. 

“Kakashi-sensei.” Iruka murmured, not looking at him. His stance mirrored Kakashi’s, hands in his pockets and gaze cast down to the stone. “I’ve heard you come here, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” 

With no idea how to respond to that, Kakashi didn’t. 

Crickets started to chirp. Kakashi tried to gauge Iruka’s mood. He wasn’t throwing punches or bellowing loud enough to start an avalanche, so that was a good sign. But Kakashi wasn’t going to apologize. If Iruka wanted something from him, he would have to be the one to say it, because Kakashi was tired of being the only one personally invested in this little game of theirs. A game that Iruka didn’t even know he was participating in. 

Apparently, Iruka wasn’t waiting for an apology. 

“I shouldn’t have questioned you before the Hokage. I was out of line.” Iruka said finally, voice tense but lacking the seething anger it had held in the meeting. From peripheral vision, Kakashi could see Iruka glance at him before looking back down at the stone. Once more, neither of them spoke for quite a while. 

Eventually Iruka sighed and shifted, probably preparing to leave, and words bubbled from Kakashi’s throat before he could stop them. “This is where they passed my test. To become genin.” Kakashi’s hands clenched into fists in his pockets. Iruka stopped moving, his face turned towards Kakashi. The jounin didn’t look at him. “I told Naruto that the names of heroes were written here. Do you know what he said?” Slowly, Iruka shook his head, and Kakashi took a steadying breath before he met Iruka’s stare for the very first time at the memorial stone. 

“He said he wanted his name written on it.” Kakashi’s tone was blessedly even, but Iruka’s expression portrayed enough emotion for both of them. Sorrow creased into lines around his eyes, and his lips pressed together harshly. Still, Iruka met his gaze, waiting for Kakashi to continue, sensing that there was more to come, the same way he somehow always managed to sense his ANBU’s presence. 

“I don’t want his name written here. Or Sasuke’s, or Sakura’s. But they almost were, in the Land of Waves.” He was sure Naruto had told Iruka all about that, and he had read the report. Iruka’s expression betrayed no surprise. Kakashi looked back at the memorial. “Because of me. Because I didn’t prepare them.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Iruka interrupted. “It was supposed to be a C-rank mission, you couldn’t have known--”

“It doesn’t matter. They should have been able to handle it. Not one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist,” Kakashi amended quickly when Iruka opened his mouth once more. “But the others. Instead, Naruto froze. Sakura couldn’t do anything but stand there, and Sasuke nearly died to the hands of a boy his own age. If they had trained harder, if I had prepared them more, things could have gone better. They might be children, Iruka-sensei, but they’re put in dangerous battles, the same as any of us. If war comes again, they’ll be expected to fight and die to defend their country. What’s more, they’ll want to. You won’t be able to stop them.” 

Inhaling deeply, Kakashi raised a gloved hand, running his fingers through untidy silver hair. “You do them no favors by trying to keep them young forever. They’ll fight, and they’ll be in situations where missions go wrong, or they’re ambushed, or they’re found by an S-class missing nin. It shouldn’t happen, but it does. Other countries are training their children as soldiers, and so we must as well. If we try to hold them back, they’ll rush forward head long, and they won’t be prepared for what they find. Their names will be written here long before you think they’re ready to be chuunin.”

Iruka didn’t respond, and after a few seconds, Kakashi looked over at him. He expected to see anger, or perhaps sadness, but instead Iruka was examining him searchingly, brows creased and eyes steady. “Do you think they’re ready to become chuunin?”

“No.” Kakashi answered immediately. Iruka still stared at him, but the answer must have satisfied him, because he didn’t argue. “They won’t pass this time. I’m certain of that. But they won’t die, either. They’ve grown, since you taught them. They’re strong enough to survive the exam, and what they encounter there… will help them survive for a long time after.” 

It was already summer again, but there was a light chill in the air, the last vestiges of spring haunting the memorial ground. A cool breeze made Iruka’s hair flutter, a few loose strands crossing his face. Kakashi remembered how it had looked down in the moonlight filtering through the hospital window. Iruka brushed the strands behind his ear and looked at Kakashi with a smile so soft it made Kakashi’s bones ache with the desire to reach out and touch it. “I’m sorry, Kakashi-sensei. I should have trusted your opinion a little more.”

“You don’t know me enough to trust me.” Kakashi responded immediately. If his tone was a touch bitter, Iruka didn’t seem to notice. 

“The Sandaime trusts you.” Iruka replied gently. “And Naruto. I’ve spent more than a few nights listening to him talk about you. Although most of it is regarding your habitual tardiness and questionable choice of reading material. He calls you a lazy pervert.” 

“Out of the mouths of babes.” Kakashi said dryly. Iruka really smiled then, a light chuckle floating in the air between them. It felt like forever since Kakashi had heard that sound. Iruka’s eyes glittered like smoky quartz when he laughed. 

“I can’t say that I necessarily agree, but…” Kakashi thought for a moment that Iruka was still talking about Kakashi’s character flaws, but his tone was serious as he looked up at the stars just starting to peek through the curtain of the sky. “You better be right, Kakashi-sensei.” There was an underlying threat there, even if Iruka chose not to voice it explicitly. 

“I know I am.” Kakashi murmured through numb lips. It might have sounded arrogant or condescending to some, but to Kakashi, it was a simple statement of truth. He was confident in this judgement, even if he hadn’t been the ideal jounin-sensei thus far. Iruka seemed to understand. He nodded wordlessly, looking down at the memorial stone. His eyes were unfocused, thoughts apparently elsewhere, and for several long moments they just stood together. Then Iruka seemed to steel himself and he spoke, his tone almost forcefully light. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me again, Kakashi-sensei?” 

It took Kakashi an embarrassing number of seconds to convince himself that he had heard that correctly, and another to register the abrupt change in mood and topic. “Now?”

“Ah, well, perhaps not tonight.” Iruka rubbed at the bridge of his nose, over his scar, and Kakashi could just make out the way his cheeks darkened in the dim lightning. “I’m helping Anko with her part of the exams, plus my normal schedule at the Academy… Maybe after the second round of the exams end?” 

It was common knowledge that, no matter what the first two rounds entailed, the third was always a tournament that took part at least a few weeks after the initial rounds, to give the genin time to prepare. That was good. Naruto’s teams performance in the first rounds would give them something to discuss, at the very least. Kakashi could even ask Iruka how he had passed his own chuunin exam, something Iruka had only glossed over at the memorial stone. “Alright. I look forward to it, Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi had at least recovered enough aplomb to sound casual even as excitement and rekindled hope swirled through him, filling up the empty, hollow space in his chest so quickly he felt almost dizzy. He wasn’t foolish enough to think this offer was more than a way to make amends for their argument, but Kakashi couldn’t even bring himself to care. Iruka was offering to spend _time_ with him, and that was already more than Kakashi could have expected. 

“Great. I’ll find you then.” Iruka smiled brightly, taking a step back. “Have a good night, Kakashi-sensei.” Kakashi watched as Iruka turned, walking with light steps back down the path that would lead to the village. He was almost out of sight when Kakashi finally replied. 

“Goodnight… Iruka.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I tagged angst, and I think I'm delivering. Just remember, it gets better. The next chapter has some not-quite-so-heartbreaking Iruka/Kakashi content, I promise. 
> 
> Iruka, Kakashi, and Naruto's words at the funeral are taken straight from the manga. 
> 
> If anyone happens to be a beta, I'm still looking! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your beautiful comments. You people are fantastic, and truly my motivation to keep posting.

That dinner with Iruka never happened.

The chuunin exams took place, and Kakashi realized that nothing he had considered could possibly prepare him, or his young charges, for the return of Orochimaru. 

In general, people liked to think of shinobi as fearless. That was bullshit. Everyone felt fear, and that sure as hell didn’t change when your life was constantly on the line. The trick was to work through it, to accept it and then shove it down rather than let it control, let it freeze. When Kakashi saw the curse mark on Sasuke’s neck, he felt fear: for the life of his student, for the village, for the other examinees. But it didn’t even come close to the absolute terror that coursed through him when Orochimaru himself found them after sealing the curse mark. 

Kakashi bluffed. He put on a strong act, because the truth was, he had no idea if he could even manage to so much as scratch the Legendary Sannin. This wasn’t a normal shinobi. This wasn’t a jounin, or an ANBU, or even one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. This was a being of pure evil, someone who experimented on innocent children, and who had the power of a Kage. This was Sandaime’s prized pupil, someone that Hiruzen had once thought had the potential to surpass him, and only God knew what Orochimaru had spent the last decade doing. Nothing Kakashi had ever been through prepared him to fight someone on that level, and he knew that, if it came down to it, he would probably be dead before his body hit the floor. 

So, he bluffed. And somehow, miraculously, Orochimaru left. Kakashi didn’t fool himself into thinking that Orochimaru had believed any of the bullshit Kakashi had spouted, but it didn’t really matter. For whatever reason, Orochimaru wasn’t ready to take Sasuke yet, and that meant they had time. How much, Kakashi had no idea, but it was something. 

He arranged an ANBU guard for Sasuke and then returned to watch the rest of the matches, but while his body was present, his mind was mostly elsewhere. The adrenaline was slowly leeching from his tense muscles, leaving him cold and clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He felt almost like he had low blood sugar from not eating for days, yet his stomach was also uncomfortably full and churning with that same fucking fear. He felt weak, small, pathetic. Then the monster from the sand, Gaara, fought Guy’s favorite student, and Kakashi realized exactly how much danger his young soldiers were in, even apart from the bastard after Sasuke.

Kakashi was too agitated even to be annoyed when he realized that the only two Konoha genin likely to make chuunin that time (the Nara and the Aburame) were Kurenai and Asuma’s students. They would rag on Kakashi for ages if their students passed while all of his failed. The only other genin with a reasonable hope of passing were the Sound shinobi with bandages covering his face and the Sand puppeteer. While Kakashi had little doubt Gaara would make it far in the tournament, he didn’t show the calm head needed for a leader. The Sand kunoichi hadn’t shown enough one way or another for Kakashi to tell. 

When the final matchups were announced and both Naruto and Sasuke were listed as up against boys far stronger than them, both of which had shown the willingness to kill, Kakashi’s feelings of uselessness morphed slowly into determination. He would arrange for someone to help Naruto--at least make it less likely that he would die, even if he had very little chance of actually winning against the Hyuuga--but Kakashi needed to help Sasuke. 

He was the only one who had even a chance of getting Sasuke far enough in a month to keep him alive against Gaara of the Sand. He wasn’t certain of Sasuke’s chakra affinities, other than the fire nature that almost all Uchiha had, but due to the sharingan, there was a strong possibility that Sasuke could learn chidori, provided his taijutsu could get up to speed in the required time. Sasuke had all of the potential needed, Kakashi just needed to shape it. In comparison, there was very little Kakashi could teach Naruto, and there were any number of jounin in Konoha who could do just as good a job on that front. 

The more Kakashi considered it, the more he realized exactly how much of himself he could see in Sasuke. They were both talented, had high expectations put on them from childhood, lost their only family, and at that age, Kakashi had also been a serious loner with more interest in moving up the ranks than in teamwork. Sasuke was unfortunately reminiscent of the way that Kakashi had been before Obito, and this time, there was no one to die and change Sasuke’s way of thinking before it was too late. Kakashi himself would have to do that. After he made certain that Sasuke wasn’t going to die in a coffin of sand.

Then, there was the problem of Orochimaru. Kakashi didn’t know why he had chosen to wait instead of grabbing Sasuke right then and there, but he could come back at any time. When Kabuto took down an entire team of ANBU by himself, Kakashi realized that he couldn’t keep Sasuke in Konoha for training. If a full ANBU cell couldn’t protect Sasuke, there was no reason to expect that even the whole village could keep the boy safe. If they were outside the village walls, then they would be more difficult to find and Kakashi would have some chance of hiding Sasuke if worse came to worse. It also lowered the chances of Orochimaru doing a full-on assault against Konoha. Kakashi didn’t know what sort of military force Orochimaru commanded, if any at all, but just the man himself would be enough to cause severe loss of life, especially with neither of the other Legendary Sannin in Konoha. That sort of large-scale disaster needed to be avoided at all costs.

After the preliminary matches and Orochimaru’s appearance, things happened very quickly. Once the Sandaime approved Kakashi’s plan to remove Sasuke from the village, he arranged for Ebisu to take on Naruto. It was the best he could do on such short notice. Ebisu was certainly a better instructor than Kakashi, even if their skills as shinobi were quite different. Sakura wasn’t in the final round, something for which Kakashi was grateful. At least there would be one student he didn’t have to worry about in the coming month. 

Kakashi would have liked to see Iruka one more time before he left, but there was no time. That night, while he stood watch personally in Sasuke’s hospital room, he sent Guruko to Iruka’s classroom, instructing him to leave a note on the teacher’s podium. It cost him the promise of a flank steak when he got back (since this, the mutt argued, was a personal favor, and therefore not in his job description), but it was well worth it to soothe the concerns Iruka would no doubt have after hearing Sasuke had gone missing. 

_‘Raincheck on dinner?_

_I’ll keep him safe.’_

He signed it with a henohenomoheji in the lower right hand corner.

He took Sasuke to a training ground Minato had shown him once many years before, outside Konoha proper. The Uchiha wasn’t the only one that needed to get stronger, and a new sense of urgency filled Kakashi, one that he hadn’t felt in too many years. It was an urge to get better, to grow stronger, because the people he cared about were depending on him. There was nothing Kakashi could do that would prepare him to face down one of the Legendary Sannin, but Kabuto was an obstacle that the Copy nin could realistically defeat. He didn’t fool himself into thinking it would be easy. 

His pack took turns standing watch, at least two of them on duty at all times. Kakashi’s best hope, if someone came for Sasuke, was to get the kid out as quickly as possible, and an early warning system would be vital to that. He didn’t actually expect Orochimaru to make an appearance, but Kakashi knew better than to count on the logic and predictability of a mad man. He knew what that snake had done to Anko, to Tenzou. Kakashi was going to take no chances. 

Sasuke proved to be a good student, when removed from the distractions of Naruto and Sakura. He wasn’t particularly skilled in taijutsu, but he had excellent reflexes, and the sharingan would make up for anything he lacked. Kakashi trained the Uchiha’s body, using what Sasuke had recorded of Rock Lee as a basis, for a week straight before he was satisfied that it was even possible for Sasuke to learn what he needed in time. At that point, he incorporated the basics needed for chidori.

Luckily, Sasuke had already learned the basics of manipulating chakra nature, and had practice in using it with the Uchiha’s fire jutsu. It was more difficult for him to grasp the feeling of lightning chakra, but Sasuke was determined, and his natural talent (as well as a very large chakra reserve, considering his age) helped him catch on more quickly than Kakashi had expected. Each day was a cycle that started with sparring and taijutsu training from sun-up to just before noon, resting during the hottest part of the day, and then molding chakra until well past sunset. Kakashi did his own training in the dark, after Sasuke fell asleep. 

Three weeks in and they finally got close to putting the two things together. 

The more they trained, the more Kakashi saw the similarities between them, and the more he realized that Sasuke needed more than just battle training. The boy was scarred, emotionally, and his obsession with his brother would someday lead to his ruin. It was easy to see. It was harder to fix. 

Kakashi tried so many times to think of the words that would have helped him at that age. He thought of Obito, and what he would have done in Kakashi’s place, but it wasn’t something that could be solved with a few easy sentences. This wasn’t Inari in the Land of Waves, or Naruto who just needed someone like Iruka to believe in him. This wasn’t a childish grudge, or a problem of looking at something from the wrong viewpoint.

Sasuke had been betrayed by the person closest to him. 

Kakashi had viewed his father’s suicide as a betrayal, for many years. He had hated Sakumo, thought of him as selfish, weak, a coward. That pain had taken a very long time to heal, and Obito’s words had merely been the catalyst that started the lengthy process. There was nothing Kakashi could say to make Sasuke feel any better about his brother’s actions. Hell, it wasn’t even Kakashi’s place to _try_. He had worked with Itachi in ANBU and never seen the warning signs, never even thought for a moment that the person beyond the mask would betray all of them. Kakashi had no right to try to convince Sasuke not to avenge his parent’s murders, his entire clan’s massacre. 

But whose place was it?

Sasuke had no one. He was as alone as Naruto had been, but in a different way. Sasuke wasn’t hated by the villagers, but still he was far from accepted. He was unique, an oddity, the last of a clan that had once been a pillar of Konoha, and yet tainted by his brother’s actions. It wasn’t dissimilar to the shame Kakashi’s father had thrown upon the Hatake line. But while Naruto and Kakashi had both found Iruka, Sasuke had no one. If Kakashi didn’t help him, who would?

Iruka, Kakashi realized now, had been the rock that had kept him sane during those difficult years in ANBU, after the loss of everyone important to him. Iruka hadn’t known it, of course, but watching the younger boy cry so openly, so passionately, watching him grow and mature and stay a good person throughout the loss of his parents and the betrayal of his best friend… all of that had helped shape Kakashi into the relatively stable person he had become. When Kakashi had been surrounded by cold porcelain masks and the stench of death, Iruka had been soft tears and a ray of sunshine. When Kakashi had been a loose thread desperately looking for something to ground him, Iruka had been there with a plain, mundane tale about chalk dust or teenage jealousy. Iruka had been everything safe and steady, everything that Kakashi couldn’t have. Iruka was normalcy and happiness, or at least the illusion of it, when Kakashi couldn’t rid the sharp, iron tang of blood from his nostrils. 

Perhaps Naruto could become that for Sasuke. Perhaps that rivalry could become something more, actual bonds of friendship that would help the two lost boys find each other in their times of need. Perhaps Sakura would eventually get through to Sasuke, ground him in the way that Iruka had so often done for Kakashi. Perhaps Kakashi could give Sasuke a purpose, the way Minato had done for him, and over the next few years, help him realize that his life was worth too much to throw it away chasing Itachi. 

Kakashi wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t as wise as Minato, as caring as Rin, as loyal as Obito, or as warm as Iruka. But Kakashi was there anyway, so he had to try. Maybe he could do some good. Him, and Naruto, and Sakura. 

It was too soon to tell. But Kakashi hoped. 

He just had to keep Sasuke alive, first. 

The final test of the chuunin exam came and things went to shit much faster than Kakashi anticipated. He hadn’t expected Sand to be in on the betrayal, and the simultaneous attacks from within and outside the walls left several glaring holes in their defences. The one bit of hope Kakashi held out was that something had apparently gone wrong because of Gaara, and though he wasn’t quite sure what, it was a good thing for Konoha. But Kakashi had to protect the village itself, and he couldn’t afford to go chasing after the Sand siblings when there were over sixty enemies just in the stadium alone. So, he sent Sasuke, and then Pakkun with Sakura, Naruto, and Shikimaru, and he hoped for the best. His team was stronger than they had been a month ago, and Kakashi had no choice but to put his faith in them.

He and Gai combined took out a large portion of the Sand and Sound forces. Things were looking good. 

Then, word came. 

The Hokage was dead. 

The next few days passed in a blur. It was easy to forget, but Konoha was exceptionally young, in terms of villages. It was the first of the Hidden villages, but even then it had only existed for less than a hundred years. Never once, in that century, had they gone more than a few hours without a Hokage. When Hashirama died, it was automatically accepted that his brother should take his place. Then, the Nidaime himself chose the Sandaime as his successor, and it hadn’t taken long for the council to approve the decision. Sandaime had voluntarily relinquished his position to Minato, and upon Minato’s untimely death, Sandaime stepped back in to hold the village up in the midst of the turmoil of the Kyuubi attack. 

This was the first time that a clear successor hadn’t already been chosen, and Konoha was in mild chaos as a result. 

Kakashi was no longer ANBU, a thing for which he now found himself grateful. There was a leader of ANBU other than the Hokage, technically, a man who was known by the codename Raion. Or, at least, that was who it had been when Kakashi was still in. He had no idea now, but he doubted it had changed. Normally, Raion dealt more with the roster and overseeing the training of new recruits than actually controlling the ANBU, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Between Raion and Morino Ibiki of Torture and Interrogation, they knew of most of the missions the ANBU had been on in the last several years, and would hopefully be able to communicate with all those ANBU still out on missions. They would assume joint control, with Raion in ultimate command, until a new Hokage was titled. 

The jounin were a bit more clear, thanks to Shikaku, the Jounin Commander. He assumed control of the jounin and tokubetsu, with the Hokage’s advisors behind him. Under Shikaku’s command, they split their forces into sectors, with an experienced jounin commanding each unit. It was decided in a quick meeting that Kakashi would take control of several smaller divisions dedicated to tracking down the last of the enemy shinobi in the village itself, and once that task was done, spread out to the immediate surrounding regions.

Kakashi spent most of his time in Hokage Tower coordinating the operation to secure the village. His ninken were dispatched with each smaller team and, by the time Kakashi was ready to declare the village clear, he was run as ragged as his dogs, subsisting only on soldier pills, ration bars, and cold coffee. A major food waypoint had been hit during the attack, and most of the actual, fresh food in the village had been rerouted to the civilians and children. They were expecting major shipments to arrive in a day, or so Kakashi was told, but it wasn’t like he would have time to shop or cook for another week anyway. 

With so many of their jounin and ANBU dead, it was left to the chuunin to fill in the gaps. The Academy was temporarily closed down and the mission desk was taken over to help coordinate relief and reconstruction efforts. Kakashi learned almost immediately that none of the Academy students had been harmed, which meant that Iruka was safe, as well, even if Kakashi hadn’t seen him since the attack. He would have never left the pre-genin while they were in danger. That was one load off of Kakashi’s chest. He caught sight of Tenzou very briefly, on a rooftop outside the Hokage’s office window, and though they didn’t speak, Kakashi got the message. ANBU weren’t seen unless they wanted to be. Tenzou was telling Kakashi that he was still alive. Even though they hadn’t spoken since Kakashi had left ANBU, it was a welcome sign. It allowed Kakashi to focus more clearly on his own mission, since every important person to him had been accounted for. 

Other than the Hokage, of course.

By the time of the Sandaime’s funeral, Kakashi wanted to sleep for a year. He also felt as though sleep would be unattainable for the next year. After a certain point of sustained stress and exhaustion, the body starts adjusting, believing that it could easily live off of a measly two hours every night. It was one of the reasons why, after long missions, shinobi were required to take a certain amount of time off, to adjust back to a more civilian schedule. Otherwise the body could put itself into overtime, leading to substantial weight loss or gain, constant sleep loss, hallucinations, and even more concerning issues. After a month of very little sleep due to training Sasuke and himself, Kakashi had just hit the stride where his body was starting to warn him that three hours of sleep were just too damn many. Even in the four hours he had off the day before Sandaime’s funeral, he only managed to sleep for just over fifty minutes. 

It didn’t matter. There would be time to reset after the new Hokage was found. There were rumors of Jiraiya or Tsunade, but nothing was set in stone. Until then, Kakashi was needed.

Since being relieved of duty in the early morning, Kakashi had spent every hour at the memorial stone. The many new names hadn’t been added to it yet, but they would be, in the coming days. It wasn’t until Yugao came to pay her respects for Hayate that he realized it was time for the Sandaime’s funeral. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Until someone broke him from his spell, Kakashi hadn’t been able to take a single step away from that stone. 

Kakashi had been to a lot of funerals over the years. Even if he didn’t know the shinobi personally, it was tradition for anyone off duty to attend the funeral of a fallen comrade, regardless of relationship. It had been a long time, however, since Kakashi had seen so many children at one. His own team was standing near the front with the rest of the rookie genin, somberly dressed in all black. It felt too much like Minato’s funeral, over a dozen years before. Kakashi had never been close to the Sandaime--not more than any other ANBU, anyway--but he had respected and liked the man, the same as all of them. There was one person, however, that he knew loved the Sandaime beyond his position. 

Iruka stood front and center with Konohamaru, Hiruzen’s grandson. It was well known that Iruka had always been in the Sandaime’s good graces, despite his history as a troublemaker (or perhaps because of it). He was known to have tea with the old man on a semi-regular basis, and Kakashi himself had heard Iruka mention their Hokage more than once at the memorial stone. 

Kakashi hadn’t listened to Iruka there for over two years, and he felt a sudden, gut-clenching rush of guilt at the thought, at the realization of his own selfishness. 

Iruka was holding it together for the children, for Konohamaru and Naruto, but what about when he left? What about when he was alone tonight? Would he have anyone to be there for him, to keep him together once he started to crumble? Would he have someone to listen to him, the way Asuma had Kurenai? 

Probably not. 

Iruka likely didn’t even know if his ANBU was alive or dead. 

Despite his own pain, Iruka stubbornly held to the strong image his students needed, jaw squared and body steady as he comforted Konohamaru. Kakashi would have expected nothing less, but it wasn’t right, to see Iruka containing himself so strictly, to see that iron mask over his expressive features. Kakashi wondered if Iruka had let himself grieve yet.

“Iruka-sensei.” Naruto’s quiet voice interrupted the stillness. “Why do people… sacrifice their own lives for others?”

What a question. Iruka was silent for a few moments before he spoke, looking up at the cracked stone face on the cliff before them. “When a person dies, they lose everything. The past, present, and future, are all lost. A lot of people die in battle, or while on a mission. They might also die because of a simple reason.

“Among all those who are dead, there are some that have dreams, goals… but everyone has something that is most important to them. Parents, siblings, friends, lovers, people of the village. These are very important people. We trust each other, help each other. We start forming these bonds from the moment we are born. As we grow, these bonds also grow, and become stronger. 

“It’s a simple answer. Anyone with bonds like this would die for another… because they cherish them.” 

Naruto’s brow furrowed and he looked down at his feet. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say…” It was strange to hear the note of desolation in Naruto’s tone, to see the somber visage that made his young features seem so much older. “But… death is really painful.”

“Sandaime didn’t die for nothing.” Kakashi’s low words made Iruka’s eyes turn to him, but Kakashi stayed looking forward, to the stone faces. “He left us some important things. One day, you’ll understand.”

Kakashi wished he wouldn’t. But that was the ending for which every shinobi hoped: to die in the place of the ones they loved. 

Guy once said that a shinobi’s life was determined by their death. At the time, he hadn’t realized how much those words affected Kakashi, how poignant they were after Sakumo’s demise at his own hands. Now, Kakashi thought he could understand his father, just a little bit. He didn’t agree. He still felt anger, and frustration, and a keen sense of loss. But he didn’t hate everything his father was, and he could now accept that life was never as easy as living or dying, being strong or weak. 

Now, Kakashi could stand to remember his father without hatred coloring his gaze. He could stand to remember that one moment, when his father came home after a month long mission and held Kakashi in his arms. 

(It was the mission that had broken him, although Kakashi didn’t understand that until much later.)

_‘I love you.’_

Kakashi remembered those words. There was only one person in Kakashi’s entire life who had ever said that they loved him… and he had taken his own life, rather than live for Kakashi’s sake. 

At the time, the one time when Sakumo had said it, Kakashi hadn’t been certain if his father was speaking to him or to the remnant of his wife, the eyes and face that Kakashi was often told looked so much like hers. 

Now, Kakashi thought he knew. 

He hoped someone told Naruto that they loved him. He hoped Iruka did, even just once. 

Kakashi couldn’t. Not now. If he tried, he couldn’t be certain he was speaking to Naruto, and not Minato-sensei’s memory. And Kakashi would never wish the pain of that uncertainty on anyone, even if Naruto had no idea there was ever anyone else who looked just like him. 

No one would tell Kakashi that they loved him. Never again. 

That was fine. He accepted that a long time ago. 

There was one person who would have said it. Rin, if he had let her get the words out. But he had known Obito loved her, and it would have been a betrayal of the worst sort to allow her to confess on their teammate’s deathbed. Kakashi wasn’t worthy of her affections, anyway, and he had told her as much, that time and the only other time she tried to say it, on a cold night only days before she was taken from him. 

Kakashi would have left her. He had reasonable expectation that she wouldn’t be killed, but still. He would have left her to be tortured, until after their mission was complete, if not for Obito. He had just seen her as _useful_ , someone who was valuable because of their skill, instead of who they were as a person. Kakashi had always known how she felt, and he had always pretended he didn’t, because he had valued his own privacy over the trouble that would have been dealing with her emotions. 

That was what her emotions were to him: troublesome. 

Rin would have said she loved him. 

Maybe Kakashi should have let her say it, just once. It would have been nice to hear. 

Because all he could remember now were the half-whispered words of a suicidal man, a memory clouded by the passage of twenty years and the dull mind of a toddler.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearing how strongly the last chapter affected you all is just indescribably amazing. Like with any art form, the goal of writing is to convey concepts and emotions, and I'm so pleased that my portrayal of Kakashi and Iruka is doing that. 
> 
> I promised some actual Iruka/Kakashi interaction, and I'm delivering! I can't wait to read what you guys think of this chapter. <3 Y'all truly inspire me. 
> 
> Also, does anyone know why my ending note on the first chapter is showing up on every chapter? xD That wasn't my intention. 
> 
> Finally, I have a lot of editing to do on the next chapter, so I think I'll probably post is Monday instead of tomorrow (CST). We'll see, though.

Kakashi had promised to take Team Seven for ramen after the funeral, and so he did, but his mind was elsewhere, with a certain chuunin that was no doubt alone at this moment. If Kakashi was quiet and only spoke when necessary to wrangle in the children, well, that wasn’t too different from usual. But it made him think of the difference when it was just him and Sasuke. Things had felt different then. More like a teacher and a prized pupil, rather than babysitting. Kakashi’s thoughts were sluggish and slow to come, but he managed to hold himself upright and keep his eye from drooping all the way to closed. 

Teuchi subtly gave Kakashi his bowl on the house, with a significant look of mixed sympathy and gratitude. For once, Kakashi didn’t try to get out of paying for his students. 

The sky had darkened by the time Kakashi was able to send the children home, subdued but bickering almost like they did every day. They would be fine. There was something else that Kakashi needed to do. His stomach felt uncomfortably heavy with the addition of actual, solid food, but the extra calories helped give him the energy needed to complete his last mission before he finally relented and tried to get another half hour of sleep.

Opting to run instead of using more of his already stretched thin chakra, Kakashi made his way toward the memorial stone. After the last few days, there was no doubt in his mind that Iruka would want to spend time with his parents, and though the dark would keep away most of the normal mourners, Iruka had never minded it. Just in case, Kakashi scoped out the area once he started getting close, actively trying to sense anyone’s presence around the stone. If there were multiple people there, Kakashi would turn back. Iruka wouldn’t want to break down in front of a crowd, so he would have gone elsewhere, probably his own apartment. 

What Kakashi sensed gave him pause, but not for the reason he expected. There was only one chakra signature ahead, but it wasn’t in front of the memorial stone. 

It was in his tree. 

Coming to a stop in the forest about sixty yards away, Kakashi considered his options. He couldn’t go to the memorial stone without Iruka seeing him from that vantage point. He could go as his real self, but that wouldn’t provide Iruka any of the comfort he needed. Things had ended on a rather neutral note after the argument regarding the chuunin exams, and while he fully intended to eventually get that dinner he was promised, Kakashi knew they weren’t close enough for him to watch the man cry. He could just turn back entirely, maybe come find Iruka another day--but Iruka was sitting on _his tree_. That had to mean something. 

It wasn’t the dead that Iruka had come to visit; it was his ANBU. 

The idea that sprang to mind next was stupid. If any of the current ANBU found out about it, Raion would have Kakashi’s head. Impersonating an ANBU was considered treason, and the fact that it was Kakashi’s own ANBU identity he was impersonating probably wouldn’t matter too much. He still had the mask and uniform in a sealed scroll in a chest under his bed, because there was always a possibility a retired ANBU could be recalled. But the fact remained that he wasn’t in Black Ops currently, and therefore it was still illegal. Stupid. Foolish. 

There was no one else around, though, and the ANBU had much more important things to do than watch people grieving near the memorial stone. He was too tired to think anymore, head swimming and that strange apathy that comes with sleep deprivation filling his system. The consequences didn’t seem quite real, and he felt reckless. 

Kakashi’s hands flipped through the signs--dog, boar, and ram--and suddenly he appeared exactly the same as he had when Iruka healed him all those years ago, albeit without the injuries. Funeral blacks were exchanged for armor and braces, and a new mask formed over the one he always wore. The only thing Kakashi changed about his body under the uniform was his hair length, adjusting it to the slightly shorter cut he had worn while in ANBU. It wasn’t a huge difference, but it matched what Iruka had once seen, and would hopefully help in disguising his true identity. There had been no danger of that before, when Iruka had never even met him without the ANBU mask between them, but now Kakashi would have to take extra precautions. If he were thinking clearly, he would have added the white robe of ANBU unit commanders, thus erasing any concern about his hair. But then again, if Kakashi were thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have been doing such a reckless thing at all. 

Sticking to the depths of the trees, he slowly made his way towards Iruka, deliberately letting his chakra roam freely so that Iruka would sense him before he arrived. When he came into view, Iruka was sitting on Kakashi’s branch, back pressed against the trunk, both knees raised and his arms resting across them as he watched Kakashi with an unblinking gaze. He wasn’t crying, his expression as solemn and strong as it had been at the funeral. 

Kakashi didn’t approach, standing on a limb some twenty feet away and waiting for some sign, some signal of what Iruka wanted. He remained perfectly still other than slightly-too fast breaths and the way his fingers dug into the tree bark at his side. 

Under that steady stare, Kakashi felt naked, stripped nude as if he hadn’t been wearing a mask at all. This was only one of a hundred times that he had seen Iruka, but it was one of a precious few in which Iruka had seen him in return. Never before had Iruka stared at him so openly, and never before had those brown eyes trailed from his hair to his toes with a weight so heavy it was nearly corporeal. Kakashi could feel it like a physical touch, burning him with every second it lingered. 

They remained in that deadlock for several minutes that seemed like far longer, until finally, Iruka’s expression changed. It started to crumple, creases forming between his brows and lips tugging down into an expression too full of grief to be described as a frown. Still, he didn’t look away, now staring into the holes of Kakashi’s mask as if he could exactly see the face that lay beneath. 

Perhaps he could. 

“You always come.” 

Kakashi had known the words were imminent, had seen Iruka’s deep intake of breath as he prepared them, and watched as cracked lips formed around the vowels, but they still managed to startle him. His shoulders stiffened as his fingers crushed the bark beneath them, little splinters breaking off and falling to the forest floor below. Kakashi’s posture was alert, wary, entirely different from the unaffected slouch that defined his public demeanor. He tried to keep his senses open, to notice if someone else came near, but it was so hard when his entire world revolved around the man before him.

Iruka licked his lips before continuing in a hoarse voice that sounded as though he had been crying for hours, even though his eyes were dry as they bored into Kakashi’s skull. “Not always when I want you. But when I need you.”

When did Iruka want him? Had he come to this tree before, when Kakashi was out on missions, or after the Academy let out for the day? Had he hoped, each time he went to visit his parents, that Kakashi might be there as well? Had he thought of his once constant companion as much as Kakashi had him? It seemed like a foolish hope, an impossible dream that Kakashi had only entertained when he was too tired or hurt to stop himself. He was both, now, though the hurt wasn’t physical.

“I thought you were dead. I tried to sense you, at the funeral. I dunno if there were too many people, or if you weren’t there, but I thought the worst.” Iruka’s eyes were so intent on his, Kakashi wondered for a crazy moment if he had forgotten to add the glamour to disguise his eyes. He double checked. No, it was there. “I know I shouldn’t have tried, but I needed to know.” 

Kakashi had been late to the funeral, though by minutes instead of hours. He might not have been there at all when Iruka checked. If he had tried again, at the end, once everyone started to leave... Kakashi’s stomach churned. That meant, though, that Iruka still didn’t know who he was, and something that had been tightly wound in him loosened at that, relaxing the destructive grip he had on the tree. Iruka couldn’t see past his masks, after all. 

“But you’re here now. You always come. How do you always do that?” Kakashi wasn’t sure Iruka was speaking directly to him anymore. His gaze had finally dropped as he rested his hitai-ate clad forehead on his knees. His voice was softer, muffled, and Kakashi had to strain to make out the words above the pounding of his own pulse. “Why? Why do you always help me? It’s not like I’ve done anything for you.” 

Kakashi’s head tilted slightly to the side in a nearly unconscious gesture of confusion, silver brows drawing down beneath his mask. This had never been a codependent relationship, from the very start. There was nothing equal about it. And Kakashi realized that, as much as he had dreamed of comforting Iruka, he had never once considered it happening the other way around. 

Apparently, Iruka had. 

Iruka’s hands were wrapped around his legs now and they trembled as blunt fingernails dug into his calves. “You’ve seen some of the worst parts of me. I know you must have been here, watching, before I found you the first time.” Iruka looked back up now. Dark lashes gleamed with a constellation of unshed tears, but Iruka was still strong, still holding himself together. Kakashi hated it. Iruka didn’t need to hold himself together. Not here, not with him. 

“I hated that thought, at first. That you’d been watching me. But... after a while, it was freeing. There was someone who had already seen all of that. Someone that kept watching when he could have left. It didn’t matter to me whether you were judging me for it, not at first, because you stayed anyway. You… you were there, so it didn’t matter if you thought I was stupid, or useless, or annoying. You were _there_ , unlike everyone else. They just pretended I didn’t exist until I did something wrong. And I had no idea who you were, anyway, so it was safe for you to hate me. I didn’t care, as long as you were _there_.” Iruka’s voice had grown thick. Kakashi could hear barely suppressed emotions and tears coiling in his throat. 

“But now, I want to know what you were thinking all those times. I want to know who you’re mourning here. I want to know why you came to me at the hospital, after Mizu--” Iruka broke off, the word cutting off so abruptly that it seemed as though his throat convulsed around it. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. “I lost the Sandaime. My friend and my mentor. But you could have lost someone. A friend, a mother, a brother, a teammate, a lover. Maybe you need someone to listen, too. I want to know why you care, and why you stopped coming, and why you’re here for me now. ANBU-san… I want to know _you_.” 

A shuddering breath filled Kakashi’s lungs, and his head swam with dizzy relief. At some point, he had stopped breathing. Iruka must have heard the sharp intake of breath, because his eyes opened then, fixing on Kakashi’s emotionless porcelain mask with something that could be called pleading. “I know you can’t tell me your name. I know that.” Iruka’s words were coming more quickly now, and he leaned forward minutely, like he was afraid Kakashi would leave if he didn’t get these next words out. “That’s not what I… that’s not what I’m asking for.” He must have misunderstood Kakashi’s reaction to be reticence at the idea of giving away his identity. That couldn’t have been further from Kakashi’s mind.

“I don’t need your real name, ANBU-san. I would never ask that of you. I just…” Iruka trailed off, lips pressing firmly together as his gaze dropped to Kakashi’s feet. He seemed to be looking far away, or perhaps too closely at something inside himself. “I want to be there for you, too. Even if you can’t tell me anything. I feel so pathetic, sometimes, always showing you my worst side. I want… I want to support you, too.”

Kakashi didn’t answer, didn’t have any idea what he was supposed to say when he was being offered something so far beyond his wildest dreams. He had never considered _Iruka_ comforting _him_ before, but now that he had, he couldn’t erase the image from his mind. Iruka touching _his_ shoulder, hugging _him_ , holding _him_. Kakashi’s lips startled to tingle and he thought he might be hyperventilating. He wanted so _badly_. He wanted _everything_ , but with the kind of desperate, crazed longing that turns almost to fear. The ideas Iruka had planted in his head were so strange, so different from everything Kakashi had ever known or considered, that he felt like he might die if any of them actually came true.

Eventually, Iruka looked away. “God, that sounds so stupid.” Iruka gave a harsh, humorless laugh and shook his head, releasing his grip on his pants as he started shifting, drawing his legs under him to stand. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. You probably have people, friends or someone else who can listen--right? You don’t need _me_. I’m the one who needs comfort from a damn mask.” The bitterness in Iruka’s tone was surprising, darker than anything Kakashi would have expected from the man. It was filled with self-loathing and humiliation, and the red that mottled his face now was not so lovely when Kakashi knew it wasn’t from anything as simple as irritation or embarrassment. 

Kakashi didn’t remember moving, and from Iruka’s expression, he didn’t, either, but suddenly Kakashi was standing directly in front of Iruka, so close that their chests were inches apart. Their noses, one bare and one masked in ceramic and fabric, were only a fraction from touching. Iruka’s pupils dilated as he tried to refocus so closely, stumbling until his entire back was pressed against the bark. This close, Kakashi could feel the other’s body heat, could see the red rimming his lids and the way his ponytail was slightly askew. He could see the tension in Iruka’s neck beneath the high collar of his dress shirt, the ridge of his collarbone as his chest expanded with a gasp. He could see every detail in Iruka’s irises, and the only thing stopping him from feeling Iruka’s breath were the masks separating them. 

Slate grey fixed on the dark pink of Iruka’s lips, the way they were chapped from dehydration and bloodied at one corner where Iruka had probably chewed on them countless times over the last few days. Kakashi felt every nerve acutely, so incredibly tuned into the body before him that he shook with desperation, need, to touch, to _feel_ that warmth for himself, and see if it could cool the fire in his hands as well as the stone did. It was then that Kakashi realized he was reaching out, his gloved hand hovering millimeters from Iruka’s face, from the strong line of his jawbone that Kakashi wanted to stroke, so he could memorize the shape. _Just once_. 

But then a tear overflowed from wide, dark brown eyes, leaving a clear, glistening trail as it fled down a rough scar and then traversed smooth cheek. It paused on Iruka’s chin, lingering there like a caress before slipping, falling to the trunk beneath their feet. 

Kakashi’s hand diverted course, a leather-covered palm instead pressing against Iruka’s shoulder lightly, keeping him flat against the tree, maintaining the minimal distance between them but crossing it at a singular point.

Kakashi couldn’t take what he wanted from Iruka. 

He didn’t really know what he wanted, other than to touch, to feel, to roam, to be touched in return--but he wouldn’t take it, because Iruka was vulnerable, and that showed in every line of his face, in the wobble of his lower lip, in the sorrow and hope swirling within sorrel irises. 

Suddenly, Kakashi realized that Naruto wasn’t the only one who needed to hear that he was loved. Iruka had no doubt heard those words many more times in his life than Kakashi or Naruto had. He had no doubt heard them from his parents, or a lover, or friends. Perhaps even the Sandaime. But _right now_ , Iruka needed comfort, needed his existence validated, needed to know that he was still needed and appreciated and _loved_ , even if his most important people were gone. 

Whatever Kakashi did now, it would be for Iruka, and not for himself. He squeezed Iruka’s shoulder, the way he had done so many years ago. There was significantly less space between them now, his elbow bent instead of outstretched. The lack of physical distance seemed to echo their emotional states, and between the lack of sleep, the fear, and the terrible _loss_ that Kakashi had steeped in for the last thirty days, he couldn’t even begin to hold back the words that trembled at his lips. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t make his voice work even if he wanted to. So he told Iruka what he needed to hear, expressed his own emotions in a way that he _never_ had before, baring himself in a way he couldn’t have done with anyone else, but he did it without saying a thing.

Slowly, deliberately, Kakashi withdrew two fingers, index and middle, and tapped a rhythm on the ebony fabric covering Iruka’s collarbone. At first, Iruka’s expression didn’t change, transfixed by whatever he was trying to see in Kakashi’s hidden eyes. Kakashi tapped harder, more insistently, and Iruka’s haze broke into confusion, then concentration. Kakashi saw the moment that Iruka realized what he was doing, because his mouth started silently forming around the words that Kakashi’s rhythm formed. 

It was a simple code, one taught even in the Academy. Kakashi’s message was slow, even, and steady. He had to use syllabic characters mostly, because a lot of the words he had to say didn’t need shorthand, which was oriented towards forming attack plans and relaying information critical to a mission rather than expressing repressed emotions. 

He repeated his message from the beginning, now that he had Iruka’s attention where he needed it. Kakashi used this message to pour out all of the things that had filled his chest as he sat and watched Iruka over the years, all of the things he had been unable to convey under the guise of Hatake Kakashi.

_‘Respect. Admire.’_ He halted between each word, giving Iruka time to put it all together before moving on. _‘Care. Trust. Protect.’_ His fingers stalled for a moment before tapping out the next word, but he pushed on, fingers as firm as ever when they resumed their pace on Iruka’s chest. Kakashi’s breaths were coming quick and light, and his pulse fluttered hummingbird fast. But he needed to tell Iruka, needed the man to _know_. The wonder and awe dawning on Iruka’s face as his eyes switched between Kakashi’s was pushing him forward despite the uncomfortable heat that rose in his entire body at the idea of exposing so much of himself, even in such a metaphorical way. But Iruka was suffering, too, Iruka had the same fears and doubts that Kakashi did, and Kakashi couldn’t sit still, knowing that. He couldn’t say that one word, not even with his fingers, but he hoped he could get his emotions across, all the same.

_‘Affection.’_

Iruka moved then, shooting out to grasp the wrist of Kakashi’s other hand. Even through the leather he could feel Iruka’s warmth. Iruka didn’t look confused anymore, and the red mottling his skin had evened out into a smooth flush that highlighted his cheekbones. He looked like molten copper, and he smelled like green tea, and Kakashi had to swallow around the desperate noise that threatened to erupt from his chest. 

“ANBU-san--” Iruka started, urgently, but Kakashi stopped him by flicking his hand out of Iruka’s grasp, reversing the hold until he had his own long fingers wrapped around the strong tendons in Iruka’s wrist. He tapped out one more message, on Iruka’s collarbone, because Kakashi couldn’t stand that impersonal moniker, not _now_ , when he was exposing so much of himself.

_‘Inu.’_

Iruka’s confusion returned for a moment, but then his expression cleared, and he was looking at Kakashi in amazement once more. “Inu-san.” He breathed the codename like a caress. Kakashi’s fingers stuttered as his whole body shivered, tapping out nonsense for a frantic moment before stilling and starting again with renewed determination. 

_‘I--’_

Birdsong interrupted the silence of the night, and Kakashi’s head whipped to the side to catch a large brown bird flying overhead. It swooped through the trees and arched west, taking a large circle around the village. 

It was a call to a meeting, for all jounin and ANBU. It must have been concerning still active threats within Fire Country, then. 

When Kakashi turned back to Iruka, the chuunin was looking at him, gaze searching and intent as if he were once more trying to see the person behind the mask. 

“You can find me.” Iruka murmured, voice soft but eyes determined as they met Kakashi’s. It was an offer, one that Kakashi was oh so very tempted to take immediately, that night, _every night_. Iruka swallowed audibly. “ _Please_ find me.”

Kakashi’s fingers squeezed Iruka’s wrist tightly before releasing it. He straightened, leaning back a few inches. Iruka’s hand hung in the air between them for a moment before slowly dropping to his side. Kakashi started to pull his right hand from Iruka’s shoulder, but he hesitated, lingering just long enough to tap out one more message. 

He didn’t need to spell this one out, because these were words that were common to all shinobi. _‘Be safe.’_ He only got to see the beginnings of a new expression flicker onto Iruka’s features before Kakashi was gone, disappearing in a swirl of leaves.

Coming to an unsteady stand-still in a deserted alley behind one of the jounin apartment buildings, Kakashi swayed and fell against the dirty wall, shoulder bracing him against the brick as he flipped through the seals to drop the transformation. That done, he pressed his hitai-ate against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment as the world swirled around him in a dizzying circle. His left hand fumbled in one of his pouches for a soldier pill, and he lowered his mask just enough to pop it in before replacing it firmly over his nose. He waited for it to kick in before even thinking about running the rest of the distance to Hokage Tower.

Whatever bond tied Kakashi and Iruka… it wasn’t perfectly symmetrical. Kakashi was well aware that it was skewed in his favor, the cord running from him to Iruka far thicker and stronger than any bunch of threads that Iruka held in comparison. But he was starting to think that perhaps it wasn’t quite as lopsided as he had first thought. 

And perhaps… it didn’t really matter if it wasn’t symmetrical. For whatever reason, Iruka was precious to him. And after losing his father, Obito, Rin, and Minato, Kakashi had very few precious things left. Perhaps Kakashi could never show Iruka the extent of his emotions. Perhaps Hatake Kakashi would always be nothing more than an acquaintance and a comrade to Iruka. That didn’t mean that the bond didn’t exist, and that it wasn’t worth protecting. Even if Iruka’s concern for him was paltry in comparison, Iruka still felt _something_ , and that was enough. Kakashi wasn’t looking for a best friend or a life partner. He just needed a connection, something to tie him to this place and remind him there was still something to protect, something worth _living_ for, instead of just _dying_ for. 

Iruka was worth everything.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ever wonder why Kakashi keeps killing via chidori, even after what happened with Rin? Yeah, I did. 
> 
> The talk between Sasuke and Kakashi is taken word-for-word from the manga.
> 
> Your comments from last chapter were stunning, and I'm so grateful for each one of you guys. <3 
> 
> Don't worry, the progress between Kakashi and Iruka from last chapter is not undone. I'll update with chapter 12 probably on Wednesday, and there is substantial interaction in it. I swear I'm gonna live up those Kissing and Sexual Tension tags at some point, promise.

Before grass had time to grow over the Sandaime’s coffin, Itachi came back to Konoha, and Kakashi spent three days in a world of torture. When the genjutsu broke, he was awake just long enough to squint at the sun and try to bark out orders from the jumbled mess of his mind, and then he collapsed into nothingness. 

Except, it wasn’t nothingness. 

It was hell. 

In that coma, Kakashi experienced every awful memory of his life over again. Most of them were captured perfectly by the sharingan and replayed in every gory detail. A very few had happened without the sharingan’s perfect recall, mostly those to do with his father. Those memories were blurry and disjointed, but stark and vivid in the emotions they produced. Sometimes it seemed as though he was still in the loop of the Tsukuyomi, still being stabbed infinitely by razor-sharp swords. It could have been worse, Kakashi remembered thinking at one point of near-lucid clarity. It could have been acid, or hammers, or rusty spoons. He could have been raped. Itachi may have been attempting to drive him to insanity, but he hadn’t used the most painful methods available to do it. Kakashi didn’t know why, exactly, and he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he could see the skin on his hands melting off as he was burned alive in some strange torture that was quasi-memory, quasi-dream. 

While his surroundings and circumstances changed, people both living and dead floating through Kakashi’s brain in turns, one thing stayed the same in every scene, in every moment:

The feeling of his chidori piercing someone’s heart. 

First came the sensation of lightning, chakra building up in his palm and tingling his nerves, power itself taken physical form on his skin. Then his fingertips pressed against flesh, lightning jumping from his nails to burn and sear, parting the skin of his victim like a bloody sea. Once through many layers of skin, his fingertips would tear through body fat, sinew, the trapezius and rhomboid muscles. He could slide through those like candle wax. Then, Kakashi reached costal cartilage, and it crunched and popped under the heat of the chidori, breaking and pushing apart to make way for his hand. By that point, his fingers were encased in his victim’s body, up to the second knuckle. Next came bone, the sternum, and his lightning would fracture it with a million little cracks that Kakashi could hear, could _feel_ reverberating through his entire body. It started in his fingertips but, like a sounding rod, it traveled through his entire person, until he could imagine it was _his_ bones that were breaking, _his_ bones that were being crushed. 

When the sternum gave way, Kakashi’s hand sunk in to the hilt, his thumb and wrist engulfed in the warm, still breathing body of his victim. The heart was a resilient muscle. It would try to give way at first, pressing in on itself, collapsing as it tried to take the pressure without breaking. The sharp talons of his lightning always pierced through in the end, though, like popping a balloon. Then the heart shuddered, and blood leaked like a faucet, engulfing Kakashi’s fingers in slick warmth. The heart would try to beat, try to pump, try to keep giving life like it was meant to do, like it had always done. It would constrict around Kakashi’s fingers like a vice as it struggled, but the blood poured out, until it had nothing left to give.

It shivered, then remained still. 

There was a reason Kakashi still killed with chidori. 

After he killed Rin, after he felt the heart of the one person he swore to protect shiver and die in his grasp, Kakashi thought he would never use chidori again. He couldn’t wash the blood from his hands, couldn’t get rid of the lightning electrocuting him every waking moment, couldn’t feel anything he touched for the way her crushed sternum vibrated within his fingertips. Kakashi thought it might go away if he didn’t use chidori, might eventually fade until only the sight that the sharingan had captured remained to haunt him. 

Kakashi killed again. Many times, many people. But it was one person that made the difference. That single man wasn’t important, not in the grand scheme of things. They were in the middle of a war, and death happened. Kakashi had shed no tears for the two who had taken Rin, or most of the other enemy nin that had died by his hand. 

It wasn’t the man that haunted Kakashi, although Kakashi could recall him perfectly due to the sharingan: grey hair, from age instead of birth, laugh lines and crows feet, skin tanned and weather-worn, green eyes that shimmered when he smiled. But it wasn’t these details that Kakashi thought of late at night, when his team thought he was sleeping. It wasn’t the man’s eyes or hair or blood that terrified him, or the way he had gargled around the kunai in his throat. In fact, to begin with, he didn’t think of the man at all.

A few days after that kill, giving their report back in Konoha, Yondaime had asked Kakashi to stay behind after the rest of his team. Kakashi had stood, posture perfect, arms locked at his sides as he waited for his orders. 

Minato smiled at him. “You can take your mask off, Kakashi-kun.” He paused and waited until Kakashi did so. “I hear you performed very well. I was a bit worried how you would work with this new team, but it seems I shouldn’t have been.” Minato didn’t say “since you killed your last one”, but Kakashi felt like he could hear it all the same. “I need to send your team out again, but if you need the standard time off, you don’t have to join them. You can rotate into my guard until they get back.” 

Kakashi wished he was still wearing his ceramic mask, because he thought his confusion might have been evident in his visible eye. “Standard time off?”

“Yes.”

Kakashi waited, but no answer was forthcoming. “Time off for what, Hokage-sama?”

Minato’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. “I’m sure you know the rules, Kakashi-kun. At least four days off is mandatory after a mission requiring assassination, even in ANBU. I know we haven’t always held to that, in times of war, but everyone should at least be given the option.” That didn’t make sense, either, and not just because Yondaime hadn’t offered it to Kakashi’s entire team. 

(Did Minato-sensei think he was weak? Was he treating Kakashi like a child? Why was this time different than any of the other times Kakashi had killed? Was it his captain? Had he said something? Kakashi knew the whispers, heard “Cold-Blooded Kakashi”, and “Friend-Killer Kakashi” tossed around where they knew he could hear but pretended they didn’t.)

“Assassination.” Kakashi repeated. He cocked his head to the side, gaze growing distant as he allowed the sharingan to relay images of his last mission. It had been a reconnaissance mission. The only fight they’d had was--

There. The old man’s face flashed across Kakashi’s vision. 

Usagi had killed three, his captain had killed two. Kakashi had been busy securing the objective, had let his teammates take the brunt of the attack. Kakashi had only thrown a single kunai, performed a single action in that fight. He had killed one person. 

And he had forgotten it, sleeping that night and travelling three days back to Konoha without giving the old man a single thought more. It wasn’t that Kakashi had pushed the memory aside, or acknowledged it as a necessary sacrifice for the good of Konoha. He hadn’t even felt hatred towards the man, who had been laughing, caught unawares when the kunai slipped into his larynx. 

Kakashi hadn’t felt a thing at all. He had actually, truly, forgotten it.

Kakashi felt cold seep into his very bones. He didn’t realize he was trembling until Minato said his name, concern etched on that kind face. 

Kakashi had taken a life, and treated it like picking a flower.

He was forced to take those four days of leave. Decompression, most called it, and Kakashi knew that every shinobi had different methods of doing it. Some cooked, some fucked, some trained or got drunk or sharpened their weapons. Anything to get out of the mindset of a killer. For the ANBU, it was also precious time to be a real person again, complete with a name and face. 

Kakashi spent those four days alone in his apartment. He let the sharingan play those images in his head on repeat. He stared at the ceiling without seeing it. He instead saw those green eyes, those laughs lines, and heard the bloody gurgle as the man tried to talk through the kunai in his throat, the blood in his lungs. Kakashi played that memory over and over until he could recall every single moment perfectly, even without the use of the sharingan. 

A human life was worth something. Kakashi had to believe that. If he didn’t, then Obito had died for nothing. Rin had died for nothing. And that was impossible. 

Kakashi felt sick to his core. He felt like a monster. He had killed without thought, without remorse. 

He decided that night to remember every kill. Not as a number, not as a statistic to rattle off in a report. He vowed to commit to memory every person he killed, and their final moments. 

Kakashi used the chidori again after that. The feeling struck him every time. Hot, searing, blinding, painful, terrible. But he remembered every time he used the chidori. He remembered the sensation, and he remembered the person, and their face, and that was his penance. 

It was the way he stayed sane, even if sometimes his obsession over it threatened to drive him the opposite. Kakashi didn’t want to be a mindless beast like the Kyuubi, killing everything in its path. He didn’t want to slaughter people like crushing ants. He wanted to feel human. He wanted to feel what Rin and Obito would have felt, which was sorrow for every life they had to take. 

Kakashi wanted to _feel_. Even when it hurt. 

Perhaps that was why he clung so dearly to Iruka, not so many months later, when Kakashi first saw him at the memorial stone. Iruka broadcasted his pain like a damn loudspeaker, every emotion playing clearly across his expressive face. He didn’t try to hide his tears and his grief, not when he was alone. He wasn’t afraid to feel, even though it hurt. Kakashi envied and admired Iruka for that.

The chidori was Kakashi’s signature technique, an _assassination_ technique. Even if he missed the heart, there was no repairing the damage done. The electricity itself could cause cardiac arrest. It was made for killing. But it was personal, almost intimate. It allowed Kakashi to atone for his sins even as he used it, because the pain of the chidori, and the first time he used it to kill, would always remain stuck in his memory. He tortured himself by using the chidori again and again, and he felt better for it. The pain proved he was still human. It proved that the people he killed, no matter how young or old, good or evil, were still human.

He killed by other means, of course, when necessary. The sound for which chidori was named would have given him away in some situations, situations where he had to kill without being detected by children or armed guards in the next room. But when he could, he used chidori, and he made sure that every death stuck firmly in his mind, even when he had to use senbon, or kunai, or his own hands to snap a neck. 

After a while, his hands started to burn even when he didn’t use lightning at all, and only visiting the memorial stone could cool them.

So the chidori haunted Kakashi’s nightmare realm after the Tsukuyomi, in every scene, in every moment. It burned him and tingled through his entire nervous system, coursing through him like the most painful of poisons.

He would have expected nothing less. 

At some point, Kakashi awoke to a too-brightly lit hospital room, and he started to wonder if this was the dream, because the other world had felt far more real. Here, he could only barely feel the lightning on his fingertips.

He listened to Naruto and Tsunade, but it was hard for him to stay focused on what they said. Something about Sasuke. Kakashi felt numb, both physically and emotionally. The minor aches and discomfort that plagued his body after what he was told was about a month comatose did nothing to alleviate the unsettling feeling of non-existence. He vaguely remembered meeting Sasuke for lunch and one-on-one training, remembered trying to follow through on his promise to himself to not let Sasuke suffer alone, and then everything else felt like a dream compared to the intensity of the Tsukuyomi and the nightmare-filled coma afterwards. 

It was several hours before Kakashi managed to escape the hospital. He had one guest during that time: Morino Ibiki, who spent most of the ten minute visit making fun of Kakashi for letting a kid like Uchiha Itachi take him out. Kakashi wasn’t fooled. If there was one person that understood torture, it was Ibiki, and the man was no doubt checking in on the jounin’s mental state, evaluating him, either of his own volition or under orders of the new Hokage. Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to care much which it was.

His first action after breaking free of his sterile prison that afternoon was to visit the memorial stone.

He stood there, staring down at the cold slab, and he felt some sense of normality bleeding back into him. Slowly, he started absorbing the emotions that normally accompanied this place: guilt, grief, regret, remorse, generally most words starting with “G” and “R” other than “glee”. “G” was such a grave letter. 

Kakashi wondered if he was still loopy from lack of sleep. Or did a coma count as sleep? If so, he might have been drunk on too much of it.

Kakashi stayed there for a very long time. Hours passed as the sun bled into the horizon and stars rose. Still, Kakashi didn’t move. Sometime after dark he came alive again, joints creaking with disuse as he made his way to his tree. No one was there, of course. Kakashi didn’t know if Iruka had come even once in the last month, but if he had, he had left no marks of it. The only sign of human disturbance was the message that Kakashi had carved on the tree what felt like a lifetime ago:

_‘Mission accomplished’_

Kakashi reached up with weak fingers, tracing the gouges in the wood. He tried to recall what he had felt when he made them. He thought he could, but just barely. He could put a word to it, but he couldn’t make the feeling real, couldn’t gather it within himself. But he knew what it was, and over time, as he learned to assimilate back into the real world from the torturous hell of the Tsukiyomi, he would learn to feel it again.

Hope. 

He was running across rooftops, halfway back to his apartment when a sharp pain stabbed through his skull like an ice pick. The agony radiated throughout his body. Every atom felt like it was being torn apart, the sharp steel of a hundred swords piercing him at once. Kakashi lost his footing and the world tilted. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

When he next awoke, he was in his apartment. Guy had found him, and he knew Kakashi well enough not to take him back to the hospital. He had a wicked bruise on his temple and hip, but otherwise felt moderately less shitty than he had the day before.

Guy was abnormally quiet, his smile brittle and forced, his laugh ringing hollow. At first, Kakashi thought Guy was concerned about him. Then he remembered Rock Lee, and the fight with Gaara of the Sand, the crutches the boy had been using at the final round of the chuunin exams, and Kakashi felt a thick knot of guilt lodge in his gut. He had barely considered any of the other children, during the entire month he spent training with Sasuke. 

That guilt was the first thing he truly felt after awakening from his coma, other than swords and fire. 

Kakashi welcomed it.

Kakashi was awoken late that afternoon by a songbird landing on his windowsill. He endured a severe scolding from the Godaime for leaving the hospital without authorization, during which she told him that, if he valued his health so damn little, he might as well at least put himself to use while he was being reckless. Tsunade had no qualms with telling Kakashi that, while his body should have been fully recovered, and his chakra level was at a passable threshold, he would be reinstated to active duty only after submitting himself to, and passing, a psych test. She also told him to hurry the hell up about it and not be late, because she didn’t have time for him to be lazing about while they were still recovering from the aftermath of Orochimaru’s attack. Kakashi thought that was rather rich coming from someone who hadn’t done a single mission in the last decade, but, well, he valued his life just enough not to say that aloud. 

His psych evaluation happened within an hour. It was conducted by one of the orange-haired branch family Yamanakas, and was a lot less intrusive than he had expected it to be. Evaluations were standard after enemy torture, and they were normally hour-long, deeply tedious affairs. In this case, there were only a few questions, and the sharp-eyed woman seemed oddly content to let him get away with half-answers and misdirections. Under the circumstances, Kakashi figured they were willing to take what they could get. As long as he didn’t seem to pose an imminent danger to his comrades, they needed him on the field. This was just a formality. 

Kakashi wasn’t about to argue, but he hoped Sasuke’s evaluation was a bit more comprehensive. 

He was back in Tsunade’s office within twenty minutes of the evaluation starting, taking the scroll she handed out. It was a short solo mission, retrieving sensitive information from an undercover operative. Kakashi had a feeling he would be going on a lot of solo missions over the next few months. He returned to his apartment, functioning on automatic as he grabbed ration bars and soldier pills. Everything still felt foggy, disconnected, but missions were in his blood and it was easy to let his mind fall back while his body did the work. He was just about to leave when a sharp rapping sound made him pause. He pulled back his curtains to see a cat mask at his window. 

“Kakashi-senpai.” Tenzou greeted pleasantly, then hurried on with his message. “Your students are fighting on the hospital roof. You need to intervene before we do.”

Kakashi’s jaw tightened and he gave a sharp nod, slipping out through the window and taking to the rooftops. The adrenaline that soaked into his system as he ran helped to clear his head, sharpen his focus, and bring him closer to reality again. If ANBU was considering intervening, that was serious, something far worse than the normal skirmishes Naruto and Sasuke had gotten into over the last few months. It was also better for everyone if ANBU wasn’t involved, because then disciplinary action was a given. ANBU didn’t step in for childish pranks or play-fights.

Arriving barely a minute later, Kakashi made it just in time to prevent Sakura getting in the middle of a chidori and--a rasengan? _Damn it, Jiraiya,_ Kakashi cursed internally as he grabbed the boy’s wrists and flung them into the water silos. He was glad the sage had finally taken an interest in Naruto (twelve years too late), but teaching the kid an advanced jutsu of the Yondaime’s creation probably wasn’t the best thing to do first. He said as much, but when Jiraiya questioned Kakashi’s decision to teach Sasuke the chidori, Kakashi couldn’t say how it was different. In his mind, it was, but he didn’t have the time nor the inclination to explain his reasoning to Jiraiya. 

He barely spared Sakura a moment, reassuring her with an easy smile and placating words, before following Sasuke. 

He found the Uchiha and, in one swift movement, bound him with wire to the trunk of a tree. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Sasuke growled, glaring daggers at Kakashi where he stood on the branch in front of his student.

At least that question was easy enough to answer. “If I didn’t do this, you’d run away. You aren’t the type to listen quietly while I preach.” Kakashi wouldn’t have, either, when he was that age. 

He thought for a moment, the pad of his thumb rubbing slowly across the thin wire. This wasn’t an ideal setting, and Kakashi had hoped to deal with Sasuke slowly, showing him that he wasn’t alone with actions instead of words. But if Sasuke was using chidori on his teammates, Kakashi had run out of time, and with his upcoming mission, he wasn’t able to beat around the bush. A sense of urgency hummed in his blood, and Kakashi resigned himself to trying things the hard way. There wasn’t time for anything else.

“Sasuke… Quit seeking revenge.”

He saw the moment his words registered, because Sasuke’s face darkened, a lacquer film of hatred forming a hard mask over his features. Kakashi pressed on. “In this line of work, I’ve seen how bad guys like you can get. Those who tasted revenge were not satisfied. It ended in tragedy.” Kakashi _had_ seen it, and as Sasuke stared back at him with pure rage in his eyes, Kakashi realized Sasuke was further down that path than he had thought. Kakashi didn’t know what Sasuke had seen in his Tsukuyomi, but Itachi had only driven in deeper the damage he had started with the slaughter of the Uchiha clan. “You’ll only hurt and suffer more. Even if you are successful in your revenge, all you’ll be left with is emptiness.”

“What the hell do you know? Don’t talk to me like you understand.” Sasuke snarled, aggressively leaning forward against his restraints. The wire dug into his arms, embedding into his skin. There would no doubt be marks left when they were done, if Sasuke kept fighting it.

“Hey… calm down.”

“What if I were to kill the one you love most? How far would you stray from what you just said?” Sasuke’s eyes were wide and wild, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “I can make you feel true pain.” 

A chill ran down Kakashi’s spine. With those eyes, that tone, that look, Kakashi almost believed that Sasuke wanted to. _Almost_. But he knew the pain that lay underneath, the loneliness and the sorrow and the belief that no one else could understand. The hand that was in Kakashi’s pocket clenched into a fist. It burned. It was bracing, a pain Kakashi was familiar with and could tolerate. It reminded him, once again, that this was reality, not the Tsukuyomi, and what he said here mattered.

“That would work. However, unfortunately for me, no such person exists.” Kakashi’s eye closed, crinkling as if he were smiling. Beneath the mask, his lips didn’t move. “Those people have already been killed.”

His father. Obito. Rin. Minato. Kushina. His teammates, his comrades. So many people. Every single person that had ever looked at Kakashi as someone precious. 

Cruel rage froze on Sasuke’s face. It slowly melted, dripping from his features like a liquid as realization sank in. His eyelids lowered and his lips pressed together. The boy hung his head, looking at nothing.

“I’ve also lived in a long, hard era. I understand how terrible true pain and loss are.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “Maa… we aren’t the lucky ones, that’s for sure. But we aren’t the worst off. Both you and I have found precious companions.” Naruto. Sakura. Iruka. People that weren’t family, but that didn’t mean they weren’t important, didn’t mean _something_ , weren’t worth living for.

“You should know from your loss… Chidori is a power given to you because you found things important to you.” Kakashi flicked his wrist and the wire unwound itself, sliding back into a tight coil in his pouch. “That power is not something to be used against your friends, or for revenge. You yourself should know what that power should be used for.” He took a step back on the branch. “Think hard on whether you can or cannot hold true to what I’ve said.” 

Chidori was not a weapon formed of vengeance, or hatred. It was used to protect the ones that mattered most, and to remember those lost in the fight, to remember the value of human life and the weight that should bear on the shoulders of those who took it. 

Someday, Sasuke would see that.

When Kakashi left, he had hope. 

He could recognize the hatred and need for revenge motivating the orphan, because he had felt it, and seen others be consumed by it. But Kakashi thought he managed to break through to Sasuke, just a little. He had at least formed a crack in that icy exterior, implanted a little seed that he could continue to nurture and see grow. It wasn’t enough to change Sasuke’s mind permanently, of course, Kakashi knew that, but at least it was a start. At least Sasuke seemed reflective instead of hell-bent on having another go at his teammate. 

Kakashi had a mission to fulfill, but he thought he would have time, when he came back, to finish cementing the ideas that he had placed in Sasuke’s head that day. 

He was wrong. 

Sasuke left, Naruto followed, and Kakashi didn’t manage to reach them in time. He was too late. Again. He had been too late when he followed Obito to save Rin, too late to keep Rin from being made into a jinchuuriki, too late to save Kushina and Minato-sensei, too late for every single damn thing that was important to him. He had even learned to forgive his father, but too late, years after the man had rotted in the ground. 

Kakashi was always too late. 

He carried Naruto on his back and saw that he was taken care of at the hospital. Then, he waited outside the Hokage’s office until hours later when Tsunade returned, exhausted and weary and almost looking her actual age, despite the glamour still in place. She didn’t seem surprised to see him as he rose from the chair, following her wordlessly into her office. 

“They’re all alive. Damaged, but alive.” Tsunade flopped into her seat behind her desk and bent down, rummaging through a bottom drawer. She pulled out a bottle of sake and two cups. She held up the second cup, eyebrow raised in question, and Kakashi shook his head to decline the offer. She shrugged and replaced it in the drawer before pouring her own drink. 

“And Sasuke?” 

She knew what he was asking, but she took a long time to answer. She knocked the sake back in a single gulp and poured herself another, staring into the murky liquid as if it held all the answers. Finally, she sighed and looked back up at him. “If I was planning on sending the Hunter-Nin after him, I would have already done it.” She took a sip of her drink, licking her lips as she lowered the cup back to the desk. Her long, crimson fingernails tapped on the rim. “If I put a kill order on him… I would lose a lot more than just Uchiha Sasuke.”

She was right. She would lose Naruto. Perhaps Sakura. Kakashi could tell, as Tsunade looked up at him, that she thought she would lose him, as well. He said nothing. Tsunade knocked back the last of her second cup and turned her chair around, facing the wide windows that looked out over Konoha. “He’ll be listed as capture only. Now get going, and expect to have another mission waiting when you return.”

Kakashi obeyed, and left. He didn’t go to the memorial stone, because he didn’t have the time for the many hours he would inevitably stay there. For a moment, he considered seeing Iruka, the chuunin’s offer coming back to him. At that time of day, Iruka would have been finishing up at the mission desk. Kakashi could stop by just to look, just to watch, even if he didn’t say anything. But it would be selfish, something once more done only for Kakashi’s personal, foolish desires, his own comfort, and he didn’t feel as though he deserved to be comforted at the moment. He didn’t deserve Iruka. He ran until he passed the village walls, and then he kept running.

Now, he thought he understood a bit of how Iruka felt when Mizuki betrayed him, because when Tsunade told him Sasuke had deserted to join Orochimaru, he _believed_ it. It had shocked him, made fear and guilt and shame course through him like a fucking tsunami, but he believed it, because he had _known_. He _should_ have known, at least. Sasuke had chosen revenge over his friends, had chosen a madman who experimented on infants, over his own village. 

Now, Sasuke would use the chidori to help that madman, instead of protecting those he loved.

Kakashi had seen that pain in him, had known Sasuke had endured torture at Itachi’s hands, and he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t done enough. Nothing Kakashi did was ever enough. No matter how many people he killed, there was always going to be another corpse to add to the stack, another chest to sink his hand into. Maybe, someday, it would be Sasuke’s heart he pierced. 

Kakashi could barely breathe. His hands burned with the phantom sensation of blood and bone and lightning. His stomach convulsed in an effort to rid him of the ration bar he had downed that morning. But Kakashi kept moving. He had a mission to fulfill. He didn’t have time to wallow in the self-loathing that was broiling within him, filling every nook and cranny of his being with the lightning pain that normally only licked at his fingertips. 

He ran, and part of him hoped that he found a fight. He needed to push himself to his limits and taste blood in his mouth and the chidori in his fist and know that he was working to protect Konoha. He needed to know that he was useful to something, someone. Because right then, he felt like nothing but a failure. 

There was a point, on his mission, when he debated just not coming back. It would have been so easy, to just drop his guard for a second, to let his opponent’s sword slide through his ribcage and pierce his heart, the way his own weapon had done to so many others. It was tempting. 

He still hadn’t had that dinner with Iruka. Now, Kakashi thought he probably never would, because he wouldn’t be able to look the other man in the eye, not after losing Sasuke. 

But something stopped him, made him turn his body just in time to avoid the sharp blade. 

_‘Inu.’_

It was one word, whispered in Iruka’s voice. Just one word. But it gave him the idea that maybe he was worth something, to someone. He was a shitty teacher, but there was one person he could help, had helped, and perhaps he could do it again. After all, Iruka had said something else, asked something of Kakashi, and Kakashi had yet to follow through. If it was just for Iruka’s sake, perhaps he could do it. If his face was hidden behind a porcelain mask, his guilt and shame along with it, he could justify it. If it was for Iruka’s sake, Kakashi would do anything.

_‘Please find me.’_

Well, Kakashi couldn’t do that if he was dead.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are truly amazing. I cannot say how happy all of these comments have made me in the past two weeks of posting this. I'm honestly sad that it's going to end eventually. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit long, but I couldn't find a good place to split it, so here you go! 
> 
> If anyone wants to send me a message/suggest ideas for my next story/ask questions/whatever, I just made a wattpad account. I have nothing on it currently, but you can contact me on it.   
> https://www.wattpad.com/user/RenGoneMad

Kakashi’s next three missions were back to back, with only enough time in between to change out his gear and grab more ration bars before he was back on his way. He returned from his third mission with a severely sprained wrist, a nasty burn on his outer thigh, and a mild case of chakra depletion. Tsunade sentenced him to two days in the hospital and another three days of leave. He was walking the streets of Konoha by the first night, escaping as soon as they finished one healing session on his burn. The new skin was a fresh and shiny pink and tugged uncomfortably with every step he took, but it was no longer in danger of bleeding or a massive infection, so Kakashi figured he was fine. 

He might have been a bit soft in the head from the painkiller they had pumped into him when he first stumbled into the hospital, but that was also fine. 

Normally, Kakashi hated anything that affected his mental state. He imbibed alcohol in small quantities and never even considered more profound mind-altering substances. He acted constantly under the knowledge of his personal burdens, and anything that threatened to lift those, even for a night, was dangerous. But this was mostly a pleasant buzz, like two cups of sake. It freed his mind to wander without care, yet didn’t dull his senses enough that he would be terribly vulnerable to attack. It was almost nice.

He wouldn’t go to the memorial stone, though. When he was half-conscious from blood loss or sleep deprivation or obscenely low chakra levels, sure. Not when he was drunk, or under the waning influence of a just-slightly-too-high-dose of painkiller. Kakashi wouldn’t mourn when he was anything less than fully _him_. 

Wandering the streets aimlessly, Kakashi did his best not to limp. Copy-nins did _not_ limp, he was sure. He couldn’t have anyone thinking he was weak just because he’d taken a nasty katon to the leg. That just wouldn’t do. In fact, he could _prove_ just how fine he was. Where was Guy with a ridiculous challenge to do handstands around the village when Kakashi needed him?

“Kakashi-sensei.”

Kakashi knew that voice, even in his less-than-sharp mental state. He paused, foot still in the air to take his next step. Looking up, he saw Iruka walking towards him, a small, welcoming smile on his full lips.

He looked good. Better than Kakashi expected, considering his mentor just died. But actually, that had been almost two months ago, hadn’t it? Kakashi kept forgetting about the one, since he had been in a coma for it. 

“Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi emphasized each syllable separately, savoring them as they rolled across his tongue. He smiled at the taste. “What can I do for you?” He planted both feet firmly on the ground, because the world was starting to tilt.

The chuunin looked at him a bit oddly, then shook his head and brought his hand up to rub at his scar. Kakashi wondered if it was as smooth to the touch as it looked. “Uh. Well, I was just wondering if you’d had dinner yet?” 

Was it dinner time? Kakashi looked up at the sky. It was just starting to darken. A streetlight turned on a few feet from them. He turned back to Iruka. “No.”

“Then…” Iruka waited for something. Kakashi wasn’t sure what. “Would you like to have dinner with me, Kakashi-sensei? We never did get a chance, after the chuunin exams…”

“Oh.” Kakashi blinked, then paused. Hesitated. All of a sudden, all the reasons that he didn’t want to face Iruka came flooding back to him. 

Sasuke. 

Orochimaru. 

Kakashi’s failure. 

Why was Iruka even asking him? Was it because he felt obligated? Kakashi wouldn’t have blamed him for never mentioning it again, after the fiasco of the exams. Kakashi wouldn’t blame Iruka for never wanting to see him again. After all, Kakashi was to blame for losing one of Iruka’s prized students. He was entirely to blame for letting Sasuke leave, for always doing everything too fucking late to matter. He couldn’t even protect Naruto, who was off only God knew where with Jiraiya, hoping to grow strong enough to eventually face off against the Akatsuki, one member of which had already defeated Kakashi in an instant with a single genjutsu. 

As Kakashi tried to come up with a polite way to say no, Iruka expression started to fall, disappointment and rejection heavily lining his face. The streetlight just above them flickered on, throwing Iruka’s features into sharp relief. There were dark bags under his eyes. His cheeks weren’t hollow like after Mizuki’s betrayal, and his hair was its normal perfect self, but there was grief hiding there, beneath the tanned skin. 

It struck Kakashi then exactly how lonely Iruka must be. With his parents and the Sandaime dead, Mizuki behind bars, and Naruto in the wind… Iruka was alone. He had a few friends, of course, but Kakashi knew very well how one could be in complete solitude even when surrounded by people. 

Even Iruka’s ANBU had left him, their last interaction a full month before. 

_‘Please find me.’_

Kakashi let himself believe, just for a moment, that those words had been directed towards _him_ , instead of Inu. His real self. 

“Have anywhere in mind?” Kakashi asked lightly. Iruka looked up then, and even Kakashi’s muddled mind couldn’t mistake the hope filling those brown eyes, or the slow smile spreading across his lips like syrup. 

“Have you ever been to _Onishi’s_?” Iruka turned, leading them down a side street. Kakashi shook his head. The painkillers were still doing their job, but the tender skin on his thigh ached as his pants leg brushed against the bandage with every step. “It used to be a civilian bar, but a retired shinobi took it over last year. It’s pretty quiet these days.”

Kakashi definitely approved of quiet. He rarely ate out at all, especially when there was no Naruto pestering him to go to _Ichiraku_. When he didn’t have enough downtime between missions to buy ingredients to feed himself something decent (which reminded him that all of his fresh fruits and vegetables were likely bad by now), or the energy to make it, he just subsisted on ration bars. 

“I didn’t know you ate anywhere other than _Ichiraku_ , sensei.” Kakashi said with a smile. 

Iruka looked vaguely embarrassed. “I do. Ramen is just cheap and quick. But I have been known to eat a vegetable or two on occasion, unlike a certain student of ours.” 

There wasn’t much that Kakashi wanted to say about Naruto at the moment. Iruka seemed to share his sentiments, because it was quiet for a minute before Iruka spoke again.

“I hadn’t heard you were back from your last mission.” 

“Do you normally hear when I come back from missions?” Kakashi watched with fascination as Iruka’s cheeks darkened and the chuunin looked away. He wondered if the skin there would feel warm, if he reached out and touched.

“The guards manning the gate normally drop off the list of returning shinobi while I’m still at the mission desk, so Hokage-sama can look at it in the morning. I skim the names, sometimes.” Iruka explained, rubbing at his nose again. “I wasn’t working last night, though.” 

Kakashi wracked his brain to figure out what day of the week it was. “You normally work Tuesdays.” 

Iruka looked up at him, eyes widened slightly in what Kakashi interpreted as surprise that The Man of A Thousand Jutsu knew his schedule. “I do. But the Academy’s been closed down since the attack, so the teachers are rotating between the desk and missions. I’m leaving again Friday.” 

“Long mission?” 

“A couple weeks.” Iruka turned into a small establishment, holding the heavy black door open for Kakashi to pass behind him. 

The interior was moderately lit with hanging lamps over each table, giving off a warm, unobtrusive yellow glow. The tables, flooring, and bar were all a dark, heavily grained wood, giving off the impression that the entire restaurant was set in a mead barrel. Iruka didn’t wait to be seated, leading them to a booth near the back. There were only a few other tables taken in the entire restaurant, and a couple of off-duty chuunin sitting at the bar. Kakashi sat in the corner seat, facing the rest of the room. 

“You’re injured.” Iruka pointed out suddenly. Kakashi followed his gaze to the thick wrap that braced his left wrist, covering part of the small amount of skin that was normally visible on his person. 

“It’s nothing. Sprained wrist.” Kakashi moved his hand under the table, resting it on his thigh. Iruka frowned. 

“Why didn’t they heal it at the hospital?”

And damn painkillers, because Kakashi normally didn’t answer questions quite so honestly, or directly. “They don’t like to heal too much at once.” 

“Too much?” Iruka’s frown deepened. “What else was injured?”

“Maa…” Before Kakashi could continue with a subtle change of subject, a woman white fading orange hair, shorter than him by at least a foot and probably thirty years older, shoved menus unceremoniously onto the table in front of them.

“I’m out of pork.” She said brusquely, thin lips pinching together as she glared at them. Kakashi suddenly saw why the place wasn’t getting as much business under new ownership. “What to drink?” 

“Good evening, Kaede-san. Hojicha?” Iruka suggested, casting his eyes to Kakashi, who nodded his agreement. The woman turned sharply on her heel and disappeared through a back door. “They let you out of the hospital before healing you fully?” Iruka questioned once she had gone. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Kakashi quipped with a pleasant smile. Iruka’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, undeceived. “Really, sensei, I’m fine.” Kakashi said more seriously, thumb brushing idly against the grain of the sturdy table. “I’m not going to be irresponsible with my health and deprive Konoha one of her best shinobi in this uneasy time.” 

That didn’t seem to make Iruka feel better, judging by the crease between his brows and the dismay that tugged at his lips. But he nodded, watching Kakashi’s thumb as it slowly traced the grain. Kakashi turned his attention to the paper menu in front of him. They were silent for a few minutes. The matron brought out their tea, took their orders, and left again, without uttering a single word. 

“You were right.” Iruka said suddenly. Kakashi raised his visible eyebrow in question. “They were ready, for the chuunin exam.” Kakashi’s stomach plummeted to his knees. His jaw tightened and his right hand dropped from the table, curling into a fist on his uninjured thigh. Iruka continued. “What happened with Orochimaru… you couldn’t have anticipated that.” 

“How much do you know?” Kakashi questioned sharply. At the time they had kept everything quiet, and he wasn’t sure what had been made public knowledge after Sandaime’s death and Sasuke’s subsequent betrayal. Particularly Itachi’s appearance should have been classified, but since they hadn’t even had a Hokage at the point, Kakashi wasn’t certain how well that had gone. Especially with loud-mouthed shinobi like Aoba walking around.

“The basics. Naruto filled me in on anything I hadn’t already guessed.” 

“Then you know I spent a month with Sasuke before the final exam.” Kakashi couldn’t blame his loose tongue on the painkiller anymore, because the dazed, muddled feeling he got from them was gone entirely now, and his thigh pained him more than ever. Perhaps it was the last two weeks he had spent in emotional turmoil that had drained him enough to speak unhindered, or maybe it was just Iruka himself, the openness and honest warmth he could see in that familiar face. “Thirty days, every second with him, after Orochimaru’s first attack. And I didn’t see this coming.” His voice had lost the bored, detached air he normally wore like a cloak, and his body was tense, shoulders in a firm line instead of drooping. No one else was looking their way, but Kakashi felt exposed, like a dormouse just waiting on an open field for an owl to swoop down and capture its prey with sharp talons. But Kakashi’s instincts had always catered towards “fight,” and he felt like he was preparing for a battle even as they sat patiently waiting for their tea to steep. 

“I taught him for years.” Iruka responded calmly, bringing his forearms up to rest on the table, leaning forward like he was trying to cross the space that Kakashi had just retreated. “I never once thought he would betray the village.” 

“You had almost thirty students. I had three.”

Iruka opened his mouth, as if about to speak, but he hesitated. Then he sighed heavily, intertwining his fingers on the table. He stared down at them for several seconds before speaking. His tone was softer, muted, though whether because of the subject matter or the awareness of their rather public location, Kakashi didn’t know. “I tried to talk to him. After the massacre. I sat with him for an hour every day, after school, for weeks. But he never said a word, no matter what I did. He’d answer questions in class, or respond to the other students occasionally--normally Naruto. But after school… nothing.” 

Kakashi had never heard this before, even though he had still been listening to Iruka at the memorial stone at the time of the Uchiha massacre. It wasn’t surprising. While Iruka had told Kakashi many things about his students, he probably would have viewed it as betraying Sasuke’s trust if he spoke about those sensitive meetings to a virtual stranger. 

“I begged the Sandaime to get him some help. I know he tried to talk to Sasuke himself, at least a few times, called in a psychologist, but… nothing worked. Eventually, we gave up. I convinced myself that Sasuke would be fine, that he was internalizing it and dealing with it in his own way. I was stupid, only seventeen, just starting as a teacher. I was optimistic, naive. But I really believed it.” Iruka breathed deeply, relaxing his hands and letting them rest flat on the table. He met Kakashi’s gaze then, firmly, but his next words were gentle. “You told me that Mizuki made his own choice. That he could have asked for my help. The same is true of Sasuke.”

Kakashi wanted to argue. With anyone else, he would have left already, told them it wasn’t their business. But though his tone was cold, he couldn’t bring himself to up and go. “This is different.” 

“No, it isn’t. Sasuke isn’t a child. Not anymore.” Iruka’s blunt nails scraped across the wood when he curled his fingers. “He was when I had him, and I thought he still was. But I was wrong. _You_ proved that. They _were_ ready for the exam. And if Sasuke was ready to fight the enemy, to put his life on the line to protect others, to step in front of Naruto in the Land of Waves and take an attack he thought would kill him--if he was ready to die to save his friend, then he understood loyalty. And that means he understood what it meant to leave, to betray his village. He made his choice.” There was red riding high on Iruka’s cheeks now, born the intensity of his emotions rather than embarrassment. He chewed on the corner of his lower lip as he leaned back again, gaze flickering to the door to the kitchen as the owner reappeared with a tray of food.

The space between them seemed heavy, filled with more than just the clinks of porcelain on wood as the old woman sat down their dishes. Kakashi didn’t know what to say, didn’t have any answer that would put the blame firmly back on himself while absolving Iruka. Anything he could think of sounded empty, or redundant, or hypocritical. So he said nothing, and when the woman left, they started eating in silence. 

Kakashi didn’t know how he felt about Iruka trying to comfort him. Did he think Kakashi _needed_ comfort? Was his depression so evident that Iruka could tell just on their walk to the restaurant? No, more likely, Iruka was simply putting his own emotions onto Kakashi, realizing Kakashi’s guilt because he himself felt the same way. Either he wanted to return the favor of Kakashi’s words after Mizuki’s betrayal, or he was trying to absolve his own guilt by proxy. Or he was just too kind to let someone suffer, even if it was someone he barely knew. It was in a shinobi’s nature to look for other motives, to see underneath the underneath, but Iruka wasn’t devious, and he wasn’t selfish, or underhanded. Iruka was the same down to his core: honest, caring, and honorable.

With a decent view of the entire establishment, Kakashi could easily time his bites for when no one was looking. Iruka kept his eyes mostly on his own plate, probably consciously attempting to give Kakashi some privacy. He appreciated it, but still ate in small bursts, replacing his mask quickly after each bite. 

They were mostly through their meal when Iruka spoke again. Kakashi half-expected another attempt to assuage his guilt, but instead Iruka started a story about one of his new students, Konohomaru, and the pranks his group of friends had gotten up to in the months before the Academy closed. His words were halting at first, not quite as smooth or confident as any of the times Kakashi had listened to him at the memorial stone, but there was something else different about this: Kakashi could give feedback that he never could before. At first he was silent, but then Kakashi chuckled at the recounting of spectacularly failed prank, and Iruka’s confidence grew with his smile. Kakashi didn’t say much, only rarely interjecting a question here or there to keep Iruka going. 

“Doesn’t sound like they’re quite at your level yet, sensei.” Kakashi commented lightly. Their plates were empty, tea cups halfway full of the lukewarm liquid. Kakashi knew he should go, needed to get back to the hospital before Tsunade decided to summon him herself, but he couldn’t quite force himself to leave. The heavy, awkward atmosphere had finally lessened, and Kakashi felt like he could breathe again for the first time in months. His stomach was pleasantly full and his chest light, and Iruka’s voice was a soothing balm that overrode the pain searing his thigh. He didn’t want the night to end. 

Iruka didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, either, and Kakashi thought his earliest suspicion was right: Iruka was lonely. Even if it was just a random jounin Iruka barely knew, he seemed to be happy with the company, and Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to end that. He told himself that he wasn’t being selfish, because this was what Iruka wanted. It was alright to enjoy this, because Iruka was, too. As long as it was for Iruka, Kakashi would do anything. Even wait several hours too long for his next dose of painkiller. His temples were starting to throb in time with his leg, but it didn’t matter. Kakashi had braved pain much worse than this, for much less important reasons. 

“How do you know so much about my prankster days, Kakashi-sensei?” Iruka asked, eyes narrowed but playful. Kakashi hated that honorific even more now, but Iruka continued before he had a chance to correct it. Iruka’s elbows rested on the table, hands dangling between them and fingers wrapped around his cup. He hadn’t drunk anything for some time, and their teapot was empty. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it, but we weren’t in the Academy together.” 

“Maa, you give yourself too little credit, sensei. Everyone knew the infamous Umino Iruka.” Kakashi wondered if Iruka could tell he was smiling behind the mask. “Besides, I don’t think there was a soul alive in Konoha who didn’t hear Anko’s murderous rampage after you made her think Kotetsu had burned down the dango shop.” Kakashi might not have known which one Kotetsu was at the time, but he certainly heard the name shouted down the streets with deadly intent.

“I’m still surprised that worked.” Iruka laughed, eyes bright and nose scrunched around his scar. Kakashi’s mouth felt dry. He drained the last of his tea through his mask. “I actually had Izumo’s help with that one, since I’m terrible with genjutsu. He’s still terrified of snakes.”

The owner came back and placed a receipt on the table, sparing a glare for both of them (which Kakashi interpreted as “buy something else or get the hell out”) before walking away to clear a recently vacated table. Kakashi started to withdraw his hand, about to reach for his wallet, when a pressure on his wrist stopped him. Kakashi paused, gaze flicking to Iruka’s bronze fingers resting lightly on his right hand, just underneath the cuff of his glove. The pads of Iruka’s fingers were calloused from kunai and pens, but incredibly warm. Kakashi watched, frozen, heart in his throat, as Iruka slowly retreated. Each inch seemed to take a minute. His fingers brushed against the entire length of Kakashi’s hand, over the metal plate, and across each set of knuckles, before finally lifting. Kakashi wished he didn’t wear gloves, so he could have felt every instant of that soft caress. 

When Kakashi looked up, Iruka was watching him, but he looked away suddenly, cheeks turning pink. He cleared his throat slightly as he fumbled in his pocket. “I got it.” He stood up, finally getting out his wallet and taking out a few bills to leave on the table. “You paid for me last time.” Iruka explained, and Kakashi couldn’t find a good reason to argue. It wasn’t in his nature to complain about not paying the bill himself, anyway. He had tricked Guy into paying for him more than once. 

“Thank you, sensei.” Kakashi murmured as he slowly stood. He followed Iruka out the door, trying not to move gingerly, despite the way every movement tugged painfully at his barely-healed wound. Kakashi watched Iruka as they exited into the street. He could see Iruka’s neck, and the few hairs there that had slipped from his ponytail did nothing to ride the dark red flush painting his nape and the tips of his ears.

Iruka paused in the street outside, shuffling his feet. One hand went to his pocket and the other rubbed at the side of his nose in the third nervous gesture of the night. Kakashi’s hands slipped into his own pockets. His palms were sweating. He could feel pressure on his knuckles, as if Iruka’s fingers were still there. 

“Thank you for having dinner with me, Kakashi-sensei.” Iruka said, and though he was avoiding Kakashi’s gaze, there was a small smile on his lips. 

“Just Kakashi, please.” He reminded the chuunin, more out of habit than an expectation he would comply.

Iruka hesitated, then nodded. He pressed his lips together firmly, then met Kakashi’s eye. Though he was still blushing, there was something like determination in his features, and his voice was strong. “I’d like to do this again, Kakashi.” His lips twisted in a slightly wry smile. “Perhaps without such a serious topic, next time.” 

Air caught in Kakashi’s lungs, and for a moment, he felt entirely too full, something slow and expansive filling him with warmth and pleasure and anticipation. There was still guilt underlying it, of course, and Kakashi’s burden would not be lifted so easily after merely a single night and a few pleasant words. But there was hope in Iruka’s voice, his eyes, his smile, and all Kakashi could think about was getting to feel those fingers on his hand one more time. 

“Yeah.” Kakashi breathed, swallowing thickly as Iruka’s lips turned up into something sugary sweet. Kakashi never liked dessert, but he wanted to sample that smile. He thought it might taste like caramel and cinnamon. “That sounds nice, Iruka-sensei.” 

“Just Iruka.” He started to turn then, in the direction Kakashi knew his apartment to be. “I’ll see you, then. Goodnight, Kakashi.” 

Kakashi’s response came, once again, too late, too soft. He stood in the street for several beats too long, watching a brown ponytail as it disappeared into the darkness. “Goodnight, Iruka.” 

He returned to the hospital before Tsunade could send for him. After a more reasonable dose of painkillers, Kakashi slept more soundly than he had in months, coma notwithstanding.

The next evening, after being officially released, the Godaime called Kakashi into her office. He arrived through the window and startled Tsunade into spilling half a cup of sake in the valley of her generous bosom. She cursed and grabbed a random piece of paper to start dabbing up the liquid. From the horrified look on Shizune’s face as she tore the document away and ran out of the room to dry it, Kakashi assumed it was something important. 

“Use the damn door next time, brat.” Tsunade growled as Kakashi slouched in front of her desk. 

“Sorry, Hokage-sama.” He intoned politely, impervious to the glare she threw him. 

“Hatake Kakashi.” The Godaime sat back in her chair, grabbing a thick folder from the edge of the counter and flipping it open. It was worn on the hinge and frayed on the corners, obviously having seen years of use. That, the sheer heft of it, and his name written along the top, all led Kakashi to the brilliant deduction that this was his personnel file. “You graduated the Academy at five, made chuunin at six, jounin at twelve, and ANBU by thirteen. You served in ANBU under the Sandaime and Yondaime Hokages.” She looked at him with narrow, assessing eyes, and Kakashi had a sudden urge to fidget. He held still under her keen observation. 

It seemed as though she was waiting for an affirmation, so Kakashi nodded. “Yes, Hokage-sama.”

“A few years ago, Sandaime removed you from your position as ANBU squad captain and made you a jounin-sensei. Or tried to, but you refused every team. The first team you accepted was Team Seven, correct?” He wasn’t sure why she was asking, when she clearly had all of the information in front of her. He nodded nonetheless. “Now, every single one of your team is training under one of the Legendary Sannin.”

Kakashi blinked, head tilting to the side slightly in question. Sasuke had apparently joined Orochimaru, and Naruto had already left with Jiraiya, but Sakura…? Kakashi realized, with a sinking sensation in his stomach which he easily recognized as another load of guilt making its home, that he hadn’t spoken to Sakura since Sasuke left, since he had told her everything would go back to normal. 

At the time, he hadn’t thought he was lying. 

“Sakura came to me and asked to be my apprentice.” Tsunade confirmed the only option his mind had found. “I accepted.” Relief made Kakashi’s shoulders stoop a bit lower. At least she had found a competent teacher, after realizing her previous one was useless. “Which means, you’re a jounin-sensei without a team.”

“I don’t want any more genin.” Kakashi interrupted abruptly, bored facade dropping instantly into serious, clipped tones. He really didn’t give a damn if she was the Hokage, if she thought he was going to take another--

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” Tsunade replied, seemingly unfazed by his attitude. She steepled her fingers and leaned her elbows on her desk. “We lost many good shinobi during Orochimaru’s attack, and the faction that was hit hardest was ANBU. We lost an entire team to Kabuto alone. Also take into consideration the operations going on abroad against the Sound village, and we have a distinct shortage in Black Ops. I’ve spent the last few days selecting new candidates, but I can’t just throw a bunch of fresh faces together in ANBU and expect them to survive. I need leaders. You have more field experience than most of the current ANBU units combined.” 

“You want me to return to ANBU.” It wasn’t a question. Kakashi’s voice was flat, with no discernible inflection, because he honestly wasn’t sure what to feel. A few years ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity. He had always seen his removal from ANBU as a demotion, and he had never had any real desire to teach children. He wasn’t Iruka. As different training Sasuke one-on-one had been from wrangling the entirety of Team Seven, so to would training a new ANBU unit be entirely different from teaching genin. Anyone joining ANBU had already proven themselves in both skill and perseverance. These were people the Hokage would trust to end their own lives before letting information fall into enemy hands. They were, in short, the opposite of children. 

Now, he looked back on his time in ANBU, and tried to think of how it would feel to return to that: the lack of personal identity, the months-long missions, the constant life-or-death situations, the feel of his hand coated in lightning and bursting through the chest of someone he had just kissed. 

It didn’t feel good. 

Then again, neither did staying in his current state, embarking on nothing but solo missions in which he always fought to remember there was still something to which he could return.

A unit would, at the least, give him a purpose.

“There are enough chuunin and jounin to cover the B- and A-rank missions. We’ll be stretched thin, but your talents aren’t necessary there.”

He knew exactly what “talents” she was referring to: assasination. “Is this an order, Hokage-sama?”

“If it needs to be.” Tsunade leaned forward slightly, a pale brow raising in question. “Do you have a reason to refuse?” 

Did he? He had no students, and he wouldn’t even accept any new ones, not unless she made it a choice between that and becoming a missing-nin. Even then, he’d have to consider it. The Akatsuki was supposed to be dormant for the next two years at least, and Orochimaru couldn’t reincarnate for another three. He would be more likely to get assignments concerning the Akatsuki in ANBU, anyway. There was nothing to hold Kakashi there, to keep him in the village. An image of Iruka flashed unbidden in his mind, flushed and bright-eyed, asking Kakashi to dinner. 

He forced it away. They could have dinner again. It might just be a bit farther away than he had hoped.

Since Sasuke had left, Kakashi had felt useless, a failure. 

Well, there was one thing he knew he was good at. 

“No, Hokage-sama.” 

“Good. Then, as of today, you are officially instated as ANBU Captain of Team Kenshi, Codename Inu.” She pulled out three sheets of paper, each of which with a face and basic information such as experience and jutsu specialties. Kakashi took them, lifting his hitai-ate and memorizing them with the sharingan. “They’ve already moved into the ANBU barracks. You have two weeks to train them before you receive your first mission.” Covering his sharingan back, Kakashi slipped the papers on her desk. “Dismissed.”

Kakashi gave her a polite nod and was already heading to the window when she barked out, “And use the damn door!”

Back in his apartment, Kakashi trailed his fingers along the smooth surface of his ANBU mask, tracing the crimson lines. 

He was going to once more slip into the persona of an assassin, a cold-blooded killer, and train others to do the same. 

He thought to the many murders he had committed in the name of Konoha, the bodies of mothers and fathers strewn out for their children to find, the men and women he had slit the throats of in the midst of a passionate embrace, every single body that had slumped against him with his fist impaling their heart. 

Then he thought of Iruka, and his request to see his ANBU again, and the wonder and awe in his eyes as Kakashi had spilled out his emotions in unspoken words. He thought of Iruka’s body heat, the way his tears glistened like diamonds on his lashes, the way he had looked up at Kakashi so trustingly, so openly. 

Kakashi put on the uniform. Each piece of armor felt heavy against his skin, each brace a bad memory, each buckle a silent kill. Still, he put them on, and when he looked in his bathroom mirror, he saw a cold white mask staring back at him. Kakashi tilted his head, looking at himself from different angles, as if he would see something that had changed about him since the last time he had donned this garb. There was a small scar on his right shoulder, a thin white stripe that barely peeked out from beyond his sleeve. His hair was a touch too long. Other than that, there was no physical sign of change, no different between Kakashi in the years he had worn the jounin uniform. But so much was different, in his mind, and his heart. 

The white cloak that marked him as a team leader covered his hair, erasing the last trace of Kakashi’s personality. He looked at himself in the mirror, at the anonymous figure that could have been anyone. Kakashi’s hands burned. 

He opened his window and went to the memorial stone. 

It was just after sunrise when Iruka came, armed and packed for a long mission. Though he was taller and broader now, older, wiser, in that moment, Kakashi thought he looked very much like the kid that had healed him so many years ago.

Iruka only stood in front of the stone for a few moments, head bowed, before his eyes snapped open and he stared forward. In a few moments, he was in Kakashi’s tree, standing on the limb facing the ANBU. 

“Inu-san.” Came the breathless murmur. A smile slowly lit up Iruka’s features. “I guess you heard about my mission.” He took a step closer, standing nearly toe to toe with Kakashi. Their positions were reversed from last time, Kakashi’s back against the trunk of the tree and Iruka blocking him in. Kakashi imagined once more that, if he weren’t wearing the porcelain mask, he would be able to feel Iruka’s breath against his cheek. 

“We don’t have much time.” Iruka said softly, his voice lowering with the distance between them. “But I… I want to know something.” His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Kakashi’s traced it’s path, watching Iruka’s mouth form around his next words. “Why did you stop coming here?” 

That wasn’t what Kakashi had expected, although it should have been. He wasn’t sure what to say. His reasoning was too complicated, included too many things in his past that Iruka didn’t--and _couldn’t_ \--know. Iruka was watching him intently, fixed on one of Kakashi’s eyes behind his mask. His good eye, not that Iruka would know. 

“Was it because of me?” The whisper sounded fragile even as it broke the stillness between them. Slowly, Kakashi shook his head. Iruka shoulders dropped, some tension that Kakashi’s hadn’t even recognized leaching out of them. 

Hesitantly, as if to make sure he didn’t startle Kakashi, Iruka reached out. He slowly parted Kakashi’s white cloak, pulling it back to reveal the ANBU’s right side. Kakashi’s arms weren’t in the sleeves, instead ramrod straight at his sides, as if standing at attention. His nails pressed into his thighs as calloused fingers landed on the exposed, pale skin of Kakashi’s shoulder. 

Kakashi turned his head to watch as Iruka’s fingers ghosted down, trailing along the smooth black leather of his glove, the white wraps around his bicep, and the rough, hard fabric of his brace. Kakashi watched, transfixed, unable to look away, the same as two nights before. Iruka’s fingers glided down, ever so slowly, and finally stopped at Kakashi’s wrist, at the thin strip of leather revealed between the guards on his forearm and back of his hand. Iruka’s grasp on his wrist was certain, but loose enough that Kakashi could have pulled away with almost no effort. 

Iruka pulled Kakashi’s wrist towards him, thumb on the ANBU’s covered pulse point as he lifted Kakashi’s hand. Finally, Iruka brought it rest on his own collarbone, in the same spot where Kakashi had tapped out his message what seemed like a lifetime ago. Kakashi expected Iruka’s hand to fall away then, but it didn’t. His palm covered Kakashi’s hand, his pinkie laying across Kakashi’s slender wrist and his thumb on Kakashi’s knuckles, giving freedom only to the ANBU’s fore and middle fingers.

“Why, then?”

Kakashi couldn’t breath. He couldn’t think. He hated the glove that kept him from feeling Iruka’s skin, hated the shirt and flak vest that separated him from Iruka’s body heat. He just wanted to _feel_ , and yet he was being given so much already, it would have been impossible to ask for more. He didn’t want to answer, but he also couldn’t refuse. And while Kakashi couldn’t possibly ask Iruka to understand, couldn’t even begin to sort through his many motivations and thoughts and fears, he could boil everything down to one word. So he curled two fingers until only the pads were resting on the sage green of Iruka’s vest, and then shakily tapped his response, the only truth he could muster. 

_‘Guilt.’_

Iruka’s lips tightened, brows drawing down in concern or confusion. He searched the unmoving porcelain mask. Then he spoke once more, just as quietly as before, his voice barely carrying on his breath. “But not because of me?” 

Again, Kakashi slowly shook his head. 

Iruka’s gaze darted to the side, through the leaves, to the memorial stone. Then he looked back at Kakashi. “Because of someone there?” 

Many someones, more than Iruka could probably imagine. But it was true enough. Kakashi nodded, this time. Iruka repeated the gesture, his teeth sinking into a corner of his lip as he thought. They were silent for a while, the sounds of the early morning forest surrounding them. Birds, insects, rustling of leaves in the slight breeze. Kakashi’s palms felt sticky and sweaty in his gloves. 

“Will you come see me again?” 

Kakashi inhaled slowly, letting his chest expand with the breath, and the felt Iruka’s do the same beneath his hand. If there weren’t so many layers between them, he might be able to feel Iruka’s heart beat against his palm. Perhaps it was a good thing he couldn’t. He didn’t want to image than heart slowing and stilling as lightning and fingers pierced it. 

Kakashi turned his head, looking through the trees to the memorial stone, which stood firm and immovable in the open field. When he looked back, Iruka was staring at him, with the same trusting and open gaze that had haunted Kakashi’s thoughts since the Sandaime’s funeral. He tapped his answer this time. 

_‘Yes.’_

Iruka smiled, and Kakashi wished he could remove his eyepatch, could record that smile to keep with him always. Iruka’s fingers curled around his own, squeezing Kakashi’s hand soothingly as he lowered both to rest in the slim space between them. 

For a long moment, they held hands. It was innocent and yet intimate, a gesture shared between chubby-cheeked children or old lovers. In that moment, with their hands clasped together, Kakashi could imagine anything he wished, and nearly believe it was true.

It was a moment that Kakashi wished could go on forever.

Iruka squeezed Kakashi’s hand once more. “Good.” Iruka’s fingers slid across Kakashi’s palm as he pulled back. Kakashi had the crazy urge to reach for him, to grab Iruka before he could slip away. “Thank you, Inu-san.” 

Then he was gone, running through the trees. 

Kakashi was left alone, staring at his gloved hand in wonder.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 200 kudos. 200. Holy wow. That's over 200 individual people. (Unless one of you just used like a hundred different devices and made another hundred accounts, in which case, at least I have one super avid fan.) I am so thrilled by the response to this story. Every single comment, kudos, bookmark, etc, just thrills me beyond belief. 
> 
> We're coming pretty close to the culmination now, which is probably good, since this story is already above the word count it was when I "finished" it before I even started posting. 
> 
> Kakashi's pretty stuck in his head this chapter, but there is some major progress made, and I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> (This chapter was seriously 2k words when I first wrote it. Now it's like 6.5k, after "editing". I am incapable of keeping my words to myself.)

His new unit consisted of two relatively young jounin, codenames Nezumi and Ushi, and a chuunin, Uma, who would probably never make more than tokubetsu but whose remarkable sensory abilities more than made up for his lack of skill in other areas. Together, they would be a decent tracking unit, with Kakashi and his ninken at the helm. 

But while tracking sounded all well and good on paper, brought to mind harmless things like bloodhounds and footprints and trampled grass, the reality was much more grim. 

There were only two reasons to track a target: espionage, and assassination. Often, it was a combination of both. 

Assassinating someone was very different from killing in the rush of battle. It was hard to justify slipping into a peaceful child’s room at night, or seducing someone only to see the light leave their eyes minutes later. Assassination gave time to see the victim as just that: a victim. Not a threat, not an enemy, but a _victim_. A human being.

But the worst thing about ANBU, more than the masks or the codenames or the blatant dehumanization of its soldiers, was that ANBU was strictly need-to-know. 

Often, it was the ANBU themselves that didn’t need to know. 

A regular shinobi could be apprised of the goals of their mission, could sometimes question their client themselves and find ways to justify that yes, that bandit really needed killing, or yes, it was right to steal something back from a thief. 

In ANBU, operatives were given no such luxury. Half the time when Kakashi stuck his hand through someone’s heart, he didn’t know why he was doing it. He knew his victim’s daily schedule, their favorite food, the pet names they called their lover, and what they looked like in the throes of passion. But often, Kakashi didn’t know why they had to die, didn’t know why he had to slit their throat and watch their life bleed away like a sweet wine. He just had to trust his Hokage, trust the advisors and powers-that-be, and that was harder to do with every passing day, with every sternum that cracked under his fingers.

It was the reason ANBU were chosen for their personality and temperament just as much as their skillset. It was the reason someone like Naruto could never be ANBU, no matter how powerful he became. Naruto needed to know what he was doing was right in every second, was ethical by his own personal standards. But those standards had no place in ANBU. They had no place in someone who killed on command. An ANBU had to trust in the standards of their superiors alone. 

That didn’t mean being a mindless machine, or taking human life as easily as picking a flower. There were some points where Kakashi drew the line. He would never rape. He would never torture an innocent child. He would never let his teammates die, not if there was any way to prevent it. Those were values to which he could hold. He wouldn’t cause unnecessary harm. He would be humane, even when he killed. But most of the time, Kakashi did exactly what he was told, and trusted his Hokage to be correct. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible, under the Yondaime, or the Sandaime. Kakashi even trusted the Godaime, although he at times questioned her wisdom. Those three leaders, the three Kakashi had followed and killed for, were people that Kakashi could believe in. So he didn’t question his orders, didn’t question why a mother had to die. He knew there was a reason, even if he didn’t personally know it.

He didn’t know what he would do if someone like Danzo took control. 

This mindset was why Kakashi was an excellent ANBU, and why he was chosen to teach a new team how to operate on the same principles. Because the core requirement for an ANBU was the ability to turn off things like empathy and kindness, and cling tightly to what remained, to something so core it could hardly be classified as an emotion: 

Loyalty.

It was an easy word. Just three syllables. It was spoken in every preschool and classroom, readily passed around by lovers and employers.

But loyalty came to mean something different when it entailed killing without obvious cause, without provocation. Loyalty became something that plagued Kakashi in his sleep, that danced behind his eyes and rested heavy in his lungs. Loyalty rang hollow at times. Loyalty never tasted more bitter, more acrid and vile, than when he watched loyalty stab a senbon into the chakra point of a beautiful young woman in her prime.

Despite that, despite the sickening underbelly and grim reality, loyalty was Kakashi’s life. It was in his bones like marrow. Loyalty was core to Kakashi’s very being. It filled his every sense, commanded his way of life, and burned stronger than the lightning in his hands. 

Loyalty was a vicious creature, and beating it into three new souls was a damnable task. 

Still, Kakashi did it. 

Because in the end, Kakashi was loyalty. It wasn’t the cloak he wore, or the blood on his sleeves, or the symbol on his headband. It wasn’t something he could turn off like a switch, or discard when he found a job too unpleasant. Loyalty defined him. So Kakashi would teach his new team to kill, teach them to track and watch and slay. Because above all else, Kakashi believed in the Will of Fire. He believed in Konoha. He believed in Obito, Rin, Minato, and Iruka. He believed in the children in the Academy’s halls, and Teuchi’s ramen stand, and the stone Hokage heads.

He believed in something greater than himself, something more important than whatever haunted him late at night, whatever dirty deeds he had to perform.

He believed in loyalty. 

Their two weeks of training consisted mostly of stealth tactics above and beyond the requirements of any non-ANBU shinobi. Things like fine chakra control, the chameleon jutsu, and silent assassination techniques filled Kakashi’s days at ANBU headquarters. By the end of those weeks, Kakashi was relatively confident that his team wouldn’t get them all killed on their first day. Normal ANBU training would take much longer, but with Konoha pressed for resources, they would have to make due with the time they had been allotted.

Iruka returned uninjured, and that same day, Kakashi’s team headed out for their first mission.

Two months passed before Kakashi saw Iruka again. He thought of the man, of course, of sun-kissed skin and breathy laughs and broad shoulders and friendly, open smiles. He wondered, and wished, and hoped, and ignored. 

He thought often about how Iruka had requested to know Inu, to comfort him and help him. It was easy enough to explain. Iruka was a caring person, as evidenced by his profession and his relationship with Naruto. Now that Naruto was gone and the Academy was closed, Iruka wanted someone to take care of, to fulfill his own sense of self worth. It was likely Iruka didn’t even understand his motivation for offering Inu comfort, that he thought his offer was entirely altruistic. In a way, it was. There was nothing wrong with wanting to help others, or deriving gratification from it. It just meant that Kakashi shouldn’t take Iruka’s offer too seriously, shouldn’t depend on the chuunin or take advantage of his kindness, when it might have never been offered at all had Iruka not been suffering from empty-nest syndrome.

Another thing that filled Kakashi’s daydreams was the way Iruka had reacted to the words he had tapped onto the chuunin’s clavicle, the emotions and adjectives that had described Kakashi’s perception of Iruka. He thought of the wonder and awe he had seen there, and he dreamed that Iruka would react similarly, perhaps even more strongly, if Kakashi ever voiced the rest of his thoughts. 

The truth was, Kakashi didn’t even know how to verbalize what Iruka meant to him. Anything he could pull from his admittedly extensive repertoire of cheesy romance novels, and what little he had gleaned in his few interpersonal relations over the years, felt overly sappy and ridiculous, not quite strong enough, or demeaning, like he was relegating Iruka to the position of a safety blanket instead of a person. 

Even if Kakashi could find the words to say, would Iruka want to hear it? Kakashi wouldn’t make his feelings a burden, wouldn’t place any expectations on Iruka to return anything that Kakashi felt. Would Iruka want the undying affections of a masked man? Much more importantly, would he want such a thing from _Hatake Kakashi_?

Probably not. Kakashi didn’t even know what exactly he wanted from Iruka, so it wasn’t worth considering. He would give Iruka whatever comfort he could as the ANBU, and any companionship Iruka would accept from his actual self. That was all he could do. 

Those two months, and all of his musings, were made all the worse by the knowledge that Iruka was on missions himself. That he may have been in the sort of adrenaline-pumping, bone-snapping danger that Kakashi went through on a semi-daily basis. Logically, he knew that Tsunade wouldn’t be frivolous with Iruka’s life, wouldn’t put a chuunin who hadn’t taken field duty in years on anything more than a B-rank, and only in the Land of Fire herself. But that didn’t stop Kakashi from worrying. 

Kakashi was able to fight against the combined forces of the Sand and Sound nin during Orochimaru’s attack without much thought to Iruka, because he had known exactly where Iruka was: protecting the children. He was relatively safe there, in the Hokage heads, out of the way of the worst battles. But now, Iruka could be anywhere, sacrificing everything. He could die without even knowing how strongly he was cared for, without knowing exactly how much he had changed Kakashi’s life. That was frightening, as much as going onto the field with a barely trained team.

There was nothing Kakashi could do, though. He wouldn’t dream of asking Iruka to forgo his duty to Konoha, even if he had that right or ability. It was a shinobi’s privilege to die for those they loved, and Kakashi wouldn’t take that choice from anyone. Well... not unless he could take their place.

Kakashi also thought of his students. Naruto, who was hoping to become strong enough to survive when the Akatsuki finally made their move. Sakura, who was taking charge of her life and choosing her own path. Sasuke… who was probably doing and witnessing unconscionable things, things that he may never forgive himself for, even if he ever did come back to Konoha. 

Sasuke, who, if he didn’t return soon, would find himself buried to the throat in regrets and blood. Sasuke, who had felt so alone that he needed to turn to Orochimaru for help to grow stronger. Sasuke, who hadn’t been able to depend upon his teacher. 

Sasuke, who was turning into Kakashi, but worse. Minato had stopped Kakashi before he went too far, forced that four day leave on him and made him consider that the name he heard whispered when he passed, “Cold-Blooded Kakashi,” might have more truth to it than he had wanted to believe.

Sasuke didn’t have Minato. He only had Kakashi. And Kakashi had failed him.

Despite Kakashi’s fears and regrets, he was never distracted enough for it to show to his team. He was a professional, the best of the best, and standing guard in enemy territory wasn’t a time to write sappy poetry, read morally questionable erotica, or confront his innermost demons. It was a time to tune into his senses and locate the enemy before they were found first, because if he didn’t, it wasn’t just his life at stake.

Their first two missions went well, relatively simple ones that involved tracking known Sound-nin on the borders of Earth country, gathering information on hideouts, and reporting back. 

Their third mission did not go well. 

They were ambushed. One of the Rock jounin must have been a high-level sensor, although that information was certainly not in the intel provided. Their simple little tracking unit was suddenly bombarded by exploding seals and a mudslide. By the end of the fight, Ushi had a compound fracture in her tibia, along with several broken ribs and a concussion. Uma had internal bleeding from a ruptured spleen and a punctured lung, and their medic, Nezumi, was chakra depleted and singed in places, but mostly unharmed, thanks to Kakashi throwing him aside before he could take the brunt of the attack. Kakashi had a gouge in his left thigh from a kunai and a dislocated shoulder that he popped back into place with a wordless grunt. He collected scrolls from the corpses of their enemies and then worked on fashioning a brace for Ushi’s leg while Nezumi popped soldier pills and tried to stabilize Uma. 

The trip back to Konoha was long, although they technically made it back much earlier than expected. They were supposed to be gone for roughly two weeks this time, but that had presumed they actually followed the Rock shinobi and verified the rumored meeting with Sound nin. They had been ambushed after four days of travel, and with their targets dead, they had no hope of completing their mission. It only took them another four days to get back. 

It was spurts of intense effort interspersed with long breaks, because Uma needed constant supervision and Nezumi was losing endurance with every second he had to spend staying Uma’s bleeding. Ushi was in and out of consciousness, dead weight on Kakashi’s back since Nezumi couldn’t afford to spend the effort healing her leg. All they could do was make good time and hope they made it before Nezumi worked himself to death or Umi’s body gave out. Nezumi had managed to heal the punctured lung early on, but it was fragile, and the stress from their travel was doing it no favors. 

On the evening of the seventh day, Nezumi starkly informed Kakashi that, if they didn’t make it back to Konoha within twenty-four hours, someone wouldn’t be returning alive. 

On the morning of the eighth day, Kakashi used a shunshin, and the last of his energy, to appear directly into Tsunade’s office through the open window. He collapsed to his knees in the center of the room. The momentum of the run made him sway in place while he tried to regain his bearings. The world was spinning far too fast. 

He didn’t flinch when an ANBU immediately moved forward with a katana aimed at his throat. Kakashi kept his head down to show he wasn’t a threat. He heard someone gasp and Tonton squeal, along with a heavy thump. Shizune had probably dropped him in shock. Chair legs screeched as Tsunade stood, alert in an instant. 

“Stand down.” She told her guard brusquely. The woman obeyed instantly, sheathing her blade but not moving back. To all appearances, a masked, cloaked, bloody shinobi had just suddenly materialized in the middle of the Hokage’s office. Kakashi would have questioned Tsunade’s choice in guard if he _hadn’t_ been immediately put at knife-point. “Iruka-sensei, leave us.” 

Kakashi looked up at that, though he remained knelt as he finally took in the scene before him. Iruka stood in front of the Hokage’s desk, clutching multiple scrolls to his chest and staring open-mouthed at Kakashi. At Tsunade’s order, he jumped, nodding and murmuring polite words that Kakashi didn’t fully hear as the teacher swept out the door. The ANBU shut it behind him. 

Kakashi didn’t know why Iruka had been there, if he was working the mission desk or performing some other task for the Hokage, but he thought he knew exactly where Iruka was headed next.

“Report.” 

Two minutes later, Tsunade was on her way to the hospital and Kakashi was flying across rooftops. His heart fluttered weakly and he felt light as a feather as he swept through the streets of Konoha, barely touching down on slate tiled roofs before he was airborne once more. Or perhaps that was just the fuzziness in his head. Black tinged his vision and Kakashi lost his footing, plummeting towards the ground, but he managed to catch himself on a streetlight and resume his progress. He blinked hard, shaking his head forcefully as if that would clear his mind. It didn’t, but he was able to refocus enough to realize he was heading in the wrong direction. He corrected his course. Ultimately, Kakashi arrived at his tree by the memorial stone only seconds after Iruka did. 

Iruka let his satchel drop to the ground some six feet below them. He stood on the branch, back to the trunk as he watched Kakashi land deftly in front of him, perhaps eight inches of space separating the toes of their shoes. They were both breathing hard, Kakashi from the effort it took to push his weary body through one more leg, and Iruka.... Well, Kakashi wasn’t sure. Maybe fear, or concern. His brown eyes were wide as he took in every inch of Kakashi’s disheveled state. Kakashi’s gaze followed the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly.

“Are you hurt?” Iruka broke the fragile silence. It shattered like porcelain around them. Kakashi dimly spared a thought for how he must appear; he was still in full ANBU garb, dried blood and caked mud covering his once pristine cloak in streaks of rust and earth, debris smearing the smooth white of his mask. But by contrast to many missions Kakashi had been on in the past, he was in prime condition, with no broken bones or poisons running through his system. He had only been a mere week out of the village instead of a month. He hadn’t even lost any teammates. 

Yet. 

There was no way of knowing if Uma would make it, but Tsunade was working on him. That gave him an infinitely better chance at survival than he would have had after those same injuries six months ago. Not for the first time, Kakashi cursed Tsunade’s selfishness, bitter anger grinding his teeth together. His fists clenched at his sides. 

How many lives had been lost because Tsunade had left the village? How many shinobi, in those many years, had died or been permanently disabled, all because she chose to spend her time gambling instead of serving her country? Kakashi knew she lost her brother, and her lover. Everyone had lost someone during the war. But she was a medic without compare. If she hadn’t left, how many shinobi would have lost one person less? How many units would have been saved from utter destruction? 

Would Minato-sensei have still died? Kushina? 

Kakashi knew it wasn’t Tsunade’s fault, and he blamed himself far more than he ever blamed her. Normally he was able to push any negative thoughts concerning their new Hokage aside, because he surely understood the temptation to leave, to run away from the destruction of war and all of the reminders of people lost. The difference between him and Tsunade was not so much selfishness versus loyalty, but rather methods of coping. Kakashi knew that he could have been Tsunade in another life, could have taken Rin’s death as a reason to run instead of fight. 

But when he saw Tsunade, he saw a shadow of his father, someone who had chosen to leave instead of stick it out for those still struggling. Kakashi saw in Tsunade everything that he had hated in Sakumo, and though he knew better, though he had come to accept that nothing was as simple as fight or flight, sometimes he slipped. It was difficult to think logically when his back ached from carrying the near-lifeless body of his comrade. It was difficult not to blame _someone_ , and he so desperately wished he could blame anyone other than himself.

“Inu-san?” Iruka’s voice was a hoarse whisper this time. It took several seconds for Kakashi to will his eye to refocus, to take in the concerned features of Iruka standing before him. He couldn’t remember what Iruka had asked. “You’re shaking.” He watched Iruka’s lips as they formed around the words, the sounds registering long before their meaning did. Then Kakashi looked down at his hands, trembling at his sides. His fingernails would have torn through the skin of his palms had he not been wearing gloves. His knuckles cracked and popped as he deliberately relaxed the muscles. 

Iruka seemed to take this as a good sign, because he moved, slowly, shuffling forward a half step. Kakashi would never know what Iruka had been intending to do, because before Iruka could finishing bridging the gap, Kakashi did it for him. Each of his arms wrapped around Iruka’s waist, hands meeting in the middle of the chuunin’s back. Kakashi surged forward, gravity propelling him as he collapsed into Iruka. His mask gouged uncomfortably into the skin of his forehead as it met the trunk of the tree. The bottom ridge, his chin, rested against Iruka’s shoulder, probably digging in painfully. Kakashi’s eye closed, and his pulse pumped thickly in his ears, and the world was swirling, and the only steady, stable thing around him was Iruka’s warm body as it pressed into every line of his own. 

Iruka’s hands came to rest at the small of his back, holding him gently, as if Kakashi would break. 

He wouldn’t break. 

He was _always_ broken.

He just needed Iruka to put back the pieces temporarily, to use some spackle and a spatula, to paste everything together, because Kakashi couldn’t do it himself right then. Not when he was shaking, not when his sight was blurred with sweat, not when he couldn’t even find all of the cracks, there were so many of them, years upon years of them spiderwebbing out and into each other until he was more dust than pottery. 

He didn’t need to be fixed, because he couldn’t be. He would never hold water the way he once might have. He just needed to get the bare bones back in place, just enough so he could carry his loyalty, his duty, like he always did. 

He just needed Iruka, for a little while. 

Kakashi’s chest rose and fell unevenly as he pressed into Iruka’s flak vest. He could feel the small pouches there, containing scrolls and tubes of ointments and pens, uneven against the armored chestplate of Kakashi’s ANBU uniform. Their legs were interleaved, one of Kakashi’s knees nudged between Iruka’s and the other propping him up against the trunk of the tree, bracketing Iruka’s left thigh. If he had shifted some, he probably could have pressed them together in absolute intimate fashion, could have felt their hips align. But there was nothing sexual about this. 

He was still shaking. 

The funny thing about going through hell is that one never truly leaves it. No one who had been through that sort of agony, who had lost everything precious to them, could ever forget what it felt like. No one could truly leave that pain behind. 

Hell, for those who experienced it, became a living, breathing creature, with a capital H, stalking and snarling and pouncing just when their prey thought they were free. It haunted, with a presence more real than any ghost. It stuck to Kakashi’s spine and clung to his throat, entering through his nostrils, burning them like cheap perfume. It buried itself in his muscles and joints and bones like parasites. Hell took Kakashi in its firm embrace, claws sinking in, and it never once let go.

The trick was learning to carry the burden, to keep walking even with Hell on his shoulders.

Kakashi had tried to push Hell away, held it with only one fingertip so he could be as removed from it as possible. But it had unbalanced him, suddenly and unexpectedly toppling him over until he found himself suffocating, drowning in its tarry depths, being smothered until his lungs burned for oxygen but all he could breathe was Hell in. Hell coated every villi in his lungs like sticky black ink, chemical and dense and polluting. 

If Kakashi wore Hell like a second skin, wrapped around every inch of his body, it would shield him from more pain. It would repel the ties and bonds that Iruka had once spoken about to Naruto, knock back those threads and keep them from attaching to him, keep any new pain from being added. But it would also shield him from everything he needed to survive. It would make him impervious to pain, but also to food, and water, and sun, and love, and he would starve until his skin hung from his bones like moth-eaten cloth and the bones in his feet crumbled into chalk just from the effort of trying to hold him up. 

He couldn’t live that way, couldn’t be reduced to just a skeleton in that cold abyss. Iruka had shown him that, unknowingly. The man he had killed without thought had shown him that, unwillingly. 

Kakashi couldn’t separate himself from his emotions. He couldn’t be that monster, couldn’t let Hell turn him into a dried up husk of a human.

So Kakashi had learned to keep Hell in his abdomen, his chest, his ribcage. If he kept it at his core, it wouldn’t overbalance him. If he kept it contained at his core, it couldn’t separate him from the outside world, couldn’t seep into his pores and clog up his arteries like lipids. If he kept it as his core, he could remember it, keep it with him, but be something else, as well. Kakashi lived with Hell every single day of his life, but he no longer let it control his life. He learned it, internalized it, sometimes woke up sweating and gagging until his stomach emptied itself in an effort to rid him of the Hell that stayed lodged deep inside like a pound of lead. But it didn’t consume his every waking second, and he didn’t fully push it away. Hell became a constant companion, but one that followed Kakashi instead of controlling him. 

Kakashi was always in Hell. But he could see the sunshine now. He could see the beauty of the world around him, even if he wished he could show Obito a little bit more. He could cry, and grieve, and smile, and laugh, and scream, and know that he would come out alright on the other end. 

Because while Kakashi was in Hell, there were other things. Other people he could see through a tiny telescope. If he was very careful, he could even get close enough to feel them, just a little. 

Outside of Hell, there was Iruka. 

Iruka was _good_. He was everything Kakashi wanted and needed. He was a constant life line, threading through Hell when Kakashi started to get lost in the depths. He was the reason that Kakashi hadn’t let that cloak of Hell bring him down until he was starved and emaciated under it’s deceptively comforting weight. Every tear that Iruka shed felt like it was for Kakashi, every sob that had shook him at the memorial stone made Kakashi think that it could be alright to start to feel again, because he couldn’t help but feel, when he watched Iruka, and that just might be ok. Iruka always managed to smile again. It made Kakashi think that, maybe, he could too. It made him think that there were still things in this world that made Hell worth it.

There were people like Iruka that still needed protecting. 

So Kakashi could live with Hell. He could make his peace with it. He could suffer, and watch his teammates die in front of him, as many times as it took, because there was something outside his accursed Hell. 

There was Iruka.

At some point, one of Iruka’s hands started stroking soothingly along Kakashi’s back, making consoling circles there as if he were comforting a weeping child. Kakashi wasn’t crying, he realized. He was trembling, weak, breaths coming in gasps more often than not, but there was no moisture beyond sweat under his masks, and he was utterly silent. Iruka was silent, too, no gentle sounds or foolish, placating words spilling from his lips. He spoke with his body, with the way he accepted Kakashi’s embrace, with the way his hand traced lines on Kakashi’s back and then rose to rest on the nape of his neck, dry fingertips playing with the fine strands of silver hair there. 

Kakashi was so tired. 

He was tired of war. He was tired of raising children to fight in it. He was tired of training soldiers only to watch them fall in battle. He was tired of being a commander. 

But he wasn’t Tsunade. He could never stop because of what he had lost, because of Hell. It just drove him further, pushed him to work harder, train more, be a better leader. He couldn’t walk away from his village, despite what he had lost--no, because of it. He wished he could show Obito’s eye more beautiful things than battlefields… hot springs and blooming dogwood trees and mountain tops and newborn babes and all that jazz. However, Obito’s eye was a testament to the horrors of war, and a reminder to prevent the same thing from happening again. He may be in Hell, but he could stop others from going there, too. 

The vision of Rin’s death drove Kakashi to protect people, because he had failed twice before. Minato was a force always leading him back the village his teacher was sworn to lead, the people who had adored him. Kushina represented a mother’s sacrifice for her child, children that Kakashi could do something to save. And Sakumo… his father reminded Kakashi that giving up wasn’t the answer. 

So no matter how many people Kakashi lost, how many comrades he lead to their deaths, how many times he sunk into Hell, he would continue to fight, for as long as he could be of use. For as long as there were good people like Iruka who deserved his protection. 

Iruka deserved so much more. 

The sun reached and passed its zenith, and still Kakashi held on. Iruka’s fingers were buried in Kakashi’s hair, stroking his neck lightly as his other hand still held tight to Kakashi’s back. 

“Inu-san.” Iruka’s voice was barely a whisper. His breath brushed against Kakashi’s ear as he spoke. 

It was only then that Kakashi realized he had stopped trembling. He shifted, trying to lean back and separate himself from Iruka. He still felt dazed, exhausted and hovering somewhere between the land of dreams and reality, but he was at least lucid enough to realize that Iruka probably didn’t appreciate being held in a vice grip against a tree for hours on end. Iruka’s grip was firm though, and the muscles in his arms tensed, not letting Kakashi pull away more than the few inches it took for them to face each other. 

He felt steadier now, as though he had absorbed some of Iruka’s strength. 

That was what Iruka always was: Kakashi’s strength. 

Maybe that should have made him feel weak, or selfish for taking advantage of Iruka, just like he had told himself not to do. Maybe it should have been a disgrace to the memory of the ones written on the memorial stone only a hundred feet away. Maybe it should have been shameful that Kakashi couldn’t even hold himself together for them, needed to steal affection and comfort from someone else just to function like a fucking human being. 

Because Kakashi was sure that, if he hadn’t had Iruka all those years ago, he wouldn’t be anything that could be considered human now.

But Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to feel any of that shame or weakness.

He felt better than before. More steady, stable. Firm on his feet, even as they wanted to give way under him. 

He felt stronger. 

“Are you hurt?” Iruka whispered, and he sounded so earnest, like Kakashi’s answer mattered in a very personal way. Despite sharing the same words, it was worlds apart in meaning from when the medic nins asked, or the questions on the form at the gate, or when Tsunade wanted to know if he was fit for another mission. It felt like it meant more than the physical, more than just clinical injuries. It felt like Iruka cared. But Kakashi didn’t know how to even begin processing all those layers of meaning, all that depth, so he followed his training and focused just on the physical anyway.

Kakashi catalogued his miscellaneous aches and pains. He could do with resting a few hours in a hot bath, but overworked muscles were hardly a major concern. There were bandages wrapped under his pants on his left thigh, covering a wound caused by a sharp kunai, but it hadn’t bled for two days and would heal well enough on its own. His shoulder was still sore and inflamed from the dislocation, but again, it wasn’t something that required urgent medical attention. 

Finally, Kakashi shook his head. Vertigo overwhelmed him at the action, but Iruka held him steady and didn’t seem to notice as the world slowly righted itself. 

“Good.” Iruka breathed a low sigh of relief, fingers dropping from Kakashi’s hairline to rest along with the other on the small of his back. Kakashi missed the affectionate caress. If he said so, would Iruka do it again? 

He only realized Iruka was speaking when his lips stopped moving. Kakashi was suddenly glad Iruka was unable to see his eye beneath the mask, because it meant he was free to stare at Iruka’s lips without judgement, something that was impossible in his normal state. Iruka started speaking again, and Kakashi noticed the pretty blush rising to his cheeks. 

“For tea, I mean. Tea… helps. And I have clothes you can wear. With the mask, of course.” Iruka was staring at Kakashi’s shoulder now. Kakashi glanced down to see a particularly crusty spot of dried blood--not his own. He dimly recalled Ushi spitting up blood at one point when Kakashi was carrying her. 

Then Iruka’s full meaning registered and Kakashi stared dumbly. If it weren’t for the heat of Iruka’s body against his, he would have thought this was a dream. But there was never heat in Kakashi’s dreams, not unless it was in his hands, and he never had so nice a dream as this. Kakashi had the absurd urge to perform a kai release, just in case this was some eerily perfect genjutsu, but that seemed unlikely. No one knew how Kakashi felt about Iruka, so they wouldn’t think of using this particular vision against him. Not even _Kakashi_ was sure how he felt about Iruka, he thought suddenly, with a manic urge to laugh at the absurdity of all of this. 

Iruka was steadily growing more red, and Kakashi finally realized he should really respond before the other man pushed him away and stormed off. 

Slowly, Kakashi pulled back, and this time Iruka let him, a frown tugging at his lips, but Kakashi didn’t separate entirely. Instead, he just leaned back a few inches, giving him enough space to slide his right hand from Iruka’s waist, across his ribs and up over his chest. Iruka’s breath hitched. Kakashi kept going, didn’t pause until his fingertips rested on the ridge of Iruka’s clavicle. There, he tapped out a message. 

_‘Sorry. Sleep.’_

Iruka frowned a moment longer, but then he relaxed, seeming to understand. The flush was still present on his skin, but it was no longer growing towards his ears, and he nodded. Kakashi knew what Iruka was thinking: that Inu, as much as he trusted Iruka, would find it impossible to sleep near someone else right then. Shinobi were paranoid creatures by nature, but ANBU even more so. He thought Inu was still stuck in his ANBU persona. Iruka thought he would be unable to truly, peacefully rest if he knew there was someone else nearby. Even if Iruka had never met an ANBU before Inu, he had probably heard of the dangers of waking a sleeping ANBU. 

Kakashi knew someone who had lost an ear that way, even if it had been surgically reattached later.

Kakashi was content to let Iruka think that, had phrased his response partially to form the misconception, but the reality was slightly different. While it was true that he desperately needed sleep, far more than tea or a shower or anything else, that wasn’t Kakashi’s real concern. It was an excuse. He was out of his ANBU persona entirely. He wasn’t Inu. That had dropped the moment he touched his tree. He would be able to sleep near Iruka, in all likelihood. 

The problem was that Kakashi didn’t trust himself to do that. He didn’t trust himself to _sleep_. He didn’t trust himself not to expose every dark shadow of his being, every deep yearning and desperate desire. He didn’t trust himself not to open up in ways he never had to another human. He didn’t trust himself not to pour out his heart and beg Iruka for more, more than Iruka could possibly give. He didn’t trust himself not to take advantage of Iruka’s kindness. 

Kakashi didn’t trust himself not to take more than just Iruka’s tea and bed.

“Right. Ok. But, Inu-san…” Kakashi abruptly shook his head, causing Iruka to pause, brow creasing. 

_‘Inu,’_ Kakashi tapped out firmly. 

Iruka’s eyes crinkled, and then he exhaled heavily in the ghost of a laugh, a smile twitching his lips. “Inu…” Kakashi nodded, and for a moment Iruka’s eyes were filled with something that looked unbearably fond as he stared into the shadowed depths of Kakashi’s mask. That fondness made Kakashi’s heart skip irregularly in his chest. Then Iruka’s expression grew more serious, smile dropping, but the fondness was still there. “If you need me... You can find me, no matter where I am.” His hands slid to Kakashi’s hips, fingers curving tightly around him, into the area where the ANBU’s vest ended and his waistband began. If it weren’t for Kakashi’s cloak, Iruka would have felt bare skin. “I want you to.” 

What God had Kakashi pleased in a past life to have even a tiny sliver of Iruka’s affection? He shivered despite the heat of the midday sun. His breath caught in his throat and he had an almost unbearable urge to take off his masks, _both of them_ , and ask Iruka to say that once more, to the _real_ him. 

Because, no matter how kind Iruka was, it wasn’t for Kakashi--it was for Inu. 

It was that one thought that gave Kakashi the strength to pull away, to stand back and take to the trees towards his apartment. It was the thought that, if Iruka knew he had just held Hatake Kakashi, that sweet affection may have been replaced with something else entirely.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW. Nothing terribly explicit, but still, most certainly NSFW. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all of your amazing comments. I can't even say how happy each one makes me. <3 I didn't expect this story to get near the response it has, and I'm so thrilled that my portrayal of Kakashi and Iruka has touched so many people.

Kakashi’s team was temporarily broken up. Uma had survived, but was expected to remain hospitalized for a while before he was able to return to active duty. Nezumi got a week out for chakra depletion, and Ushi’s leg was apparently a complex healing. Her tibia had fractured into multiple small pieces, boring into the meat of her calf and causing muscle damage during the four days they spent traveling. While Tsunade said she was certain to recover the full use of her limb, it wasn’t clear how long it would take, and she might require physical therapy for a short time. 

That left Kakashi, who had only needed a few days rest, to run a solo mission. It was rare in ANBU, but being alone was a relief for Kakashi, despite (and partially because of) his guilt regarding the status of his team. For an introvert, being constantly surrounded by others was a special kind of stress, and Kakashi valued the peace and quiet that came from his solo mission. It was supposed to be relatively simple, ANBU purely by virtue of sensitivity. The job was to make contact with someone who had intel on a supposed Akatsuki attack, memorize the details to avoid a paper trail, and report to Tsunade. Easy enough, especially for someone with the perfect recall of the sharingan.

The journey to the border of Grass took only two days, but it gave Kakashi plenty of time to obsess over Iruka. 

When Kakashi was younger, he had thought that caring about another person was a weakness. Directly following his father’s death, he had been unable to see how a relationship could end in anything but devastation. Obito caused him to doubt that assessment, and he began to see caring for one’s comrades as a strength. That had never quite translated well into his interpersonal relationships. Out of the two people closest to friends he had in the world, neither of them could really be considered “normal.” One was an “Eternal Rival” with whom Kakashi sparred but otherwise avoided, and the other was Tenzou, his kouhai in ANBU who he hadn't really spoken to since leaving the organization. Even now that he was back in its clutches, he had only seen Tenzou in passing, not a single word beyond a greeting shared between them. 

Iruka had the potential to be a friend. He had sought Kakashi out for company more than once, and it seemed clear that the teacher hadn’t minded his embrace, in his ANBU persona. Iruka was strong-willed, and if he had wanted to, he would have pushed Kakashi away, ANBU or not. He had even explicitly _requested_ to see Inu again, although Kakashi still thought that Iruka’s recent loss of Naruto had a substantial something to do with his openness towards Inu. 

Kakashi spent those two days fantasizing about Iruka and, shamefully, his friendship, about him finding out who Inu truly was and miraculously accepting Kakashi wholeheartedly. 

But that _night_ , he dreamed about something quite different.

Iruka’s touch itself. 

Still in the Land of Fire and feeling relatively safe in the dark shadow of a large pine, Kakashi let himself relive every touch Iruka had given him. In Kakashi’s mind, he went over every single bit of contact that they had made, every single brush of skin between them. The forest was quiet, and he was alone, and his thoughts began innocently enough. He just wanted to relive the simple comfort Iruka’s touch had provided, wanted to feel it again, because physical sensations couldn’t be captured with the sharingan, and that meant Iruka’s touch was possible to forget. He couldn’t have that, would sear it forcibly into his mind if he could. It was a memory far too precious to lose.

Kakashi slipped a finger into the wrappings on his right bicep, rolling them up neatly until he could tug off his glove and lay it across his knee. His skin glowed in the moonlight, ethereal and unnaturally pale. Kakashi closed his eyes and reached back, fingertips landing in the sliver of skin between his mask and his hairline, at the very top of his spine. His fingers were just as calloused as Iruka’s, but not as thick, and colder than the fall air around him. He rubbed his forefinger in small circles, the way Iruka had done, and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree while he focused on the gentle touch. 

It was no good. His fingers were too different, too slender, too cool. The physical sensation fought against his illusion, like sand in the gears of his memory. But he didn’t want to stop, wanted to pretend he could have that comfort, just for a night. 

So, he made new sensations, a new scenario. He imagined laying with Iruka, side by side in a bed that Kakashi had never seen. He imagined Iruka’s hand trailing down Kakashi’s side, as gentle as he had been when he healed Kakashi’s wounds, but with a new purpose. Kakashi swept his own hand down, ghosting across his stomach. His abdominals twitched in reaction. He felt the hard jut of his hip bone, dug his fingertips into the space between vest and waistband. He touched the bare skin there, felt the line of a scar, one he couldn’t quite remember getting. 

In his mind, it was Iruka’s hand, and Kakashi was wearing nothing at all. They were both bare, bronze against platinum, no masks between them. Kakashi imagined what Iruka would taste like, imagined that Iruka would _let_ Kakashi taste, would lay back, open and vulnerable, and sigh softly as Kakashi licked down his neck, nibbled on his sternum, found skin that Kakashi had only ever seen in his fantasies. He imagined Iruka’s broad, strong hand, imagined it curling around the muscle of Kakashi’s thigh, brushing against the junction of leg and groin, before wrapping firmly around Kakashi’s aching arousal. 

In reality, it was Kakashi’s hand that did it. He stroked himself almost painfully slowly, eyes screwed tight and each breath shallow as he arched against the tree trunk, heels digging into the soft mat of leaves on the forest floor. 

It still wasn’t quite right, and the visuals didn’t match up with the touch. It wasn’t quite as perfect as he knew it would be if Iruka did it, wasn’t as gentle, or caring, because Kakashi didn’t know how to be that way. The dry friction, with only sweat to slick his grip, was what Kakashi was used to, matched the perfunctory attitude he normally took when relieving his tension... but it didn’t match Iruka. 

So he changed his fantasy again, his hand taking the place of Iruka’s in his mind’s eye, and suddenly it felt much more real. He imagined tasting Iruka’s lips and wrapping his fingers around both of them, together, because in his scene Iruka was as desperate as he was. He imagined Iruka, and the sounds he might make as Kakashi pleasured them in tandem, imagined the way Iruka would look at him with that same unbearable fondness, but also with something else, something so incredibly sweet that it hurt. He imagined Iruka’s flushed cheeks, imagined tears sticking to his eyelashes, imagined him looking at Kakashi, bare-faced Kakashi, with adoration and lo--

Kakashi sobbed when he came, hips jerking as he spilled over his fist. 

He sat there for a long time, unmoving, breath slowly calming, before he uncurled his fingers and wiped them on a patch of lush grass. He pulled his pants back up over his hips and rinsed off his fingers with his water bottle. He dried them on his vest before slipping on his glove and starting to rewind the wrappings that held it on.

The stench of sex was heady even through his mask, through the rot of dead leaves and pine needles. He didn’t make camp there that night, moving another half-mile away through the dark and brush before finally laying down to sleep. He let Akino and Urushi stand watch. 

He hoped they couldn’t smell the pathetic guilt that clung to him beneath the scents of the forest.

On his way back from Grass, when he was still several hours travel from the village, he was intercepted by two missing-nin from the Village Hidden in the Clouds. His sharingan was covered, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was caught in a genjutsu. Only the repetitive pattern of the trees alerted Kakashi that he wasn’t headed straight to Konoha. Then, abruptly, came the pain, sudden and jarring as being hit with an earth jutsu. It felt like he was being eaten alive by a million small, carnivorous insects. Adrenaline flooded like a shockwave through his system, electrifying each cell in his body and stretching out the seconds as every inch of his skin was torn apart. 

But Kakashi had suffered through worse from the adept eyes of Uchiha Itachi, and he was able to break this illusion with a strong pulse of chakra.

They had started to restrain him while he was under, and Kakashi back came to the real world with wire binding his hands and feet together. Fortunately, he had broken the genjutsu more quickly than they expected, and his fingers weren’t entirely immobilized yet. He thrashed and managed to secure just enough leeway to form his fingers into the seals for a substitution. It seemed the missing-nin had been relying on capturing him without a fight, and once he managed to get free, the battle swung in his favor.

The man died instantly, without even time for shock to overwhelm his features. A fist of lightning punched through the heart could do that to a person. The other shinobi was a woman. She grinned, feral and manic. 

Something in Kakashi let loose, something that he hadn’t felt snap in too many years. It was a heady combination of endorphins, serotonin, and other chemicals that Kakashi didn’t know the names of but that flooded through his system in response to the excruciating pain of the genjutsu. They combined like a potent drug, sharpening his awareness and sending his heart rate sky high. He was very aware that he was alone here, with no one to protect, no one else to consider. He felt reckless, and dangerous, and there was blood on his hands and the sound of a thousand birds chirping in his eardrums, even though he had long since deactivated chidori.

The woman seemed like she was having fun, at first. They danced around each other, trading blows, neither of them bothering with verbal jabs. It was obvious that the male had been the genjutsu user, while the woman was the muscle. She fought dirty and used chakra for physical enhancement, similar to Tsunade, but not as powerful or refined. She grazed his arm with a gloved fist, bursting capillaries and causing a dark bruise to bloom under his brace as blood flooded the skin. 

Except that wasn’t the only pain. Seconds later Kakashi felt it, once again a sensation of being eaten alive, and he thought for a wild second that he had been wrong, that she had cast another genjutsu. Then he looked down at his arm and saw that his brace had been cracked, and beneath the fissure, where the worst of the pain was location, he could see something sickly green. He threw himself into a bush and created a shadow clone to draw her attention while he ripped off his brace and glove, tossing them away. The fingertips of his other glove had touched the sticky substance as well, and he stripped that, careful to keep it away from his skin. By the time he cleared all traces of acid, she had managed to land another hit and his shadow clone dispersed into a puff of dust.

He was more careful of her fists after that. She seemed intent on taking him alive, never going for anything more than a disabling blow, which was beyond stupid. She managed a glancing kick to his shin, hard enough to bruise but not break. He purposefully took the blow in order to get close enough to launch an attack of his own. She finally seemed to realize the discrepancy in their power levels. Her failing smile and the panic starting to build in her yellow eyes led him to think that perhaps they hadn’t known she was going against the Copy-nin, had just seen a chance to kidnap a Konoha ANBU and taken it on a reckless impulse. Kakashi didn’t know if it was for information or just the pleasure of torturing him. 

He never got the chance to find out. In less than five minutes after the fight began, she was dead, gurgling through a kunai in her throat as she collapsed to the forest floor. 

Adrenaline still sung in Kakashi’s veins. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t for quite some time. In his last fight, he had been concerned for only his teammates, busy assessing and planning, observing his opponents and protecting his comrades, but this time had been different. The wild panic that had swelled in him the moment he realized he had been bound, before he knew he could get out, still flowed through him and made his heart beat fast and heavy like a war drum.

It didn’t take him long to return to Konoha and report to the Hokage. Then he used a shunshin to get away before she could force him to check in with a medic. He was bruised, but he could barely feel it.

The battle wasn’t over yet. That was what Kakashi’s entire being told him as he ran through the trees, looping to avoid the village center as he made for one of the more remote training grounds. He tried to contain his killing intent and chakra. He couldn’t allow the ANBU to sense and restrain him. Not right now. He had to work out the restless energy in his muscles, run until his brain was clear of the foggy mess. He was drowning in chemicals. They were soaking through his conscious mind and leading him to operate on little more than instinct. 

Instincts couldn’t be trusted. 

Kakashi knew this, because his own led him to Iruka. 

The hairs on the back of Kakashi’s neck stood up on end, instinct alerting him someone was near even before his brain could interpret the muffled huffs and thuds that came from a hundred feet ahead of him, at training ground seventeen. 

Stopping on a tree branch some thirty feet above ground, Kakashi looked down on Iruka as he worked in the dying light of the sun. More hair than usual was out of his ponytail, slick strands stuck to his neck and temples. Black sweatpants rested on his hips and an emerald green t-shirt clung to his abdominals, darker in places where it was damp with perspiration. Iruka grunted as he aimed precise kicks to a training pole in the center of the small clearing. The three thick training poles in the center were the only tools, worn on the corners from use and riddled with holes from kunai and shuriken. 

Iruka’s thighs flexed under the dark cloth as he relaxed his posture, dragging up the hem of his shirt to mop at the scar on his nose. The temperature wasn’t too hot, Konoha was already well into fall, but Iruka had evidently been working for a while, the pleasant exhaustion of hard work starting to line his features as he bent down to grab a water bottle. He threw back his head and took a long draw, baring the vulnerable line of his throat while he swallowed. He gasped as he finished, chest heaving with quick breaths. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist, drawing away the bright moisture that had collected there. Then he tensed and spun toward the treeline, movement fighting quick, and Kakashi reacted, once more on instinct.

The next moment, Iruka’s back was pushed up against the training pole, pinned to it by bare hands on his wrist and shoulder. His grip on his water bottle slackened and it dropped. A kunai was in Iruka’s left hand and poised at Kakashi’s throat before it could hit the ground. By the time it had, the kunai was falling as well. Kakashi’s hand had slid down the length of Iruka’s bicep and forearm, twisting his wrist violently until the knife was forced from his grasp. 

Kakashi’s legs were pressed mercilessly along every inch of Iruka’s, blocking him from attempting any kicking maneuvers as Kakashi pinned Iruka’s wrists above his head, against the training pole that was just barely more narrow than Iruka’s shoulders. 

For several long seconds, they stared at each other. 

Iruka’s grim battle mask changed into one of shock and then confusion, brown eyes darting back and forth between the empty sockets of Kakashi’s mask as he tried to take in the situation. He was tense for a moment, and then he actively relaxed in Kakashi’s grip, no longer fighting against the hold. 

Smart man. 

They were both breathing heavily, chests pressed together with each rise, and Kakashi imagined that he could feel the definition of Iruka’s pectorals beneath the armor covering his own. He could certainly feel the temperature of Iruka’s skin, the heat his overworked body gave off in waves, like an honest to God fire that threatened to burn Kakashi alive. 

His fingers tightened around Iruka’s wrists. The chuunin winced, but didn’t look away, wariness muddling his features. He had already been flushed from his workout, and Kakashi couldn’t tell if it had worsened in the last few seconds. 

“Your killing intent is throwing me off a bit here.” Iruka’s voice was low and hoarse, yet unbearably loud in the silence that had blanketed them. Kakashi knew he was saturated in bloodlust, his heart pumping and his muscles trembling with the need to take action, to fight, to kill.

Iruka’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Kakashi tracked the movement. Iruka winced once again and Kakashi dimly registered that he was gripping tight enough to leave bruises. He couldn’t force himself to let go. 

“Inu,” Iruka’s voice was smoother now, deliberately soothing. Kakashi rather thought it was the tone he would use to talk a suicidal person off a ledge. “You need to let go of me.” When his words provoked no visible response, Iruka tried again. Kakashi was transfixed on the way his lips parted around the words. “Inu, you’re hurting me.” This time, Kakashi twitched, something about that seeping into his brain, past the hormones that were screaming at him to keep Iruka contained. “Let go.”

Kakashi blinked. His lid seemed to catch on the dryness of his eyeball, and he wondered how long it had been since he had done so. His grip suddenly and abruptly slackened, pressure lessening until he was just barely touching Iruka’s skin. Kakashi could feel Iruka’s pulse jump under his thumb, lightning fast. 

Iruka was afraid, Kakashi realized abruptly. He was wearing a mask of calm concern, but he was afraid of Kakashi. 

Because Kakashi was making him afraid. 

Because Kakashi was hurting him. 

Because Kakashi was hurting _Iruka_. 

Iruka flexed his fingers but didn’t otherwise move. He let out a deep breath in what sounded like relief. 

_Iruka_. Kakashi’s brain was stuck on that name, repeating it over and over like a mantra. Kakashi’s fingers slid down slowly, past Iruka’s wrists and to his forearms, feeling the tense, corded muscles there. Iruka didn’t drop his hands from where Kakashi had pinned them, which was good, because Kakashi was only sluggishly regaining real awareness, and there was no telling how he would react if Iruka made any sudden movements. 

Slowly, gradually, Kakashi’s hands migrated to Iruka’s shoulders. They were broad, and Kakashi suddenly remembered them from a month ago, how they had felt pressed against his own. Comforting. Safe. Kakashi’s left hand paused on Iruka’s shoulder, lightly keeping him pinned to the pole. Iruka froze, deathly still as the other hand slowly slid to the junction of his neck. Kakashi’s pinky rested on Iruka’s collarbone, his thumb on the chuunin’s throat. He could feel Iruka swallow, could hear it in the air between them, filled only with panting breaths. 

Kakashi’s bloodlust was cooling. In fact, his entire body felt cold now, bereft. In the wake of the powerful chemicals leaving his bloodstream, he was weak and shaky. His body still pressed against Iruka’s, but now it was in an effort to keep up his own weight, and to capture some of Iruka’s body heat, rather than an attempt to restrain the man. 

Kakashi felt like at any moment he might just float up and fly away, or collapse on knobbly knees. He needed support. He needed to be grounded. So he focused on the slick glide of his fingers across Iruka’s skin, the way they molded perfectly against the curve of Iruka’s neck. So much bare, tanned skin filled his vision, and for once, Kakashi had no gloves on to muddle the sensation as he touched it. 

“Inu,” Iruka whispered, parted lips barely moving at all with the breathy sound. He licked his lips once more as Kakashi’s thumb traced his face, stroking from his chin to his jaw in a long, smooth motion. Kakashi’s heart rate was slowing now, blood thick and syrupy in his veins. 

_He was so cold_. He was desperate to feel Iruka’s body heat more intensely, that brilliant warmth that drew Kakashi in like a moth to flame. He needed it, needed it to quell the desperation inside of him. 

The hand on Iruka’s shoulder slid lower, ghosting over a covered nipple. Iruka twitched, then stilled. Kakashi’s hand continued it’s southerly trek, flattening against Iruka’s side as it found the hem of his shirt. Then he switched directions, moving up, underneath the cloth, just enough to press against Iruka’s abdominals, which fluttered against the firm touch. Kakashi could feel the ridge of a rib against his fingertips.

Iruka was no longer trying to speak. His pulse raced in his carotid, strong enough to feel against Kakashi’s palm. Too strong to ignore. Kakashi’s pulse was slow and heavy in comparison. The fight-or-flight mindset was drifting away, leaving in its wake a single, burning desire, a need that Kakashi couldn’t begin to disobey. He felt consumed by it, driven to touch, to feel, to steal some of Iruka’s warmth. Clarity was returning, but in choice ways, highlighting every inch of the man before him and blacking out all else. 

Kakashi’s thumb traced over Iruka’s full lower lip. The fragile, sensitive skin was a dull pink. It looked unbearably, painfully soft. Kakashi needed to know if those lips were as warm as the rest of Iruka, needed to feel them with his own, needed to know if it was anything like his dreams. 

Iruka was barely breathing now. Kakashi’s hand trailed higher, over Iruka’s cheekbone, before catching on the strong fabric of his hitai-ate. Kakashi’s fingers curved over it, dragging it down slowly, inch by inch. It started to fall over Iruka’s eyes and the teacher startled, one hand snapping out to cover Kakashi’s wrist. His grasp wasn’t firm, but it was heavy, pausing Kakashi in his tracks. He couldn’t think why Iruka had stopped him, couldn’t comprehend it. His thoughts ground to a halt. 

They were frozen for several long seconds, two statues against a lively backdrop. 

Then, for the _first_ time, Kakashi was the one who spoke. 

“ _Please_.”

It was barely more than an exhalation, hardly even a whisper. His voice was unrecognizable, too rough and breathy to be his own. He couldn’t understand why Iruka stopped him, couldn’t consider such things at the moment, but he knew what he wanted, would plead and beg to get it. A small sound fell from Iruka’s lips. Kakashi could almost taste it. He couldn’t categorize it, couldn’t interpret its meaning, but he didn’t have to, because then Iruka’s fingers loosened and his hand slowly dropped to the side, coming to rest tentatively on Kakashi’s hip. 

Iruka’s brown eyes stared at him searchingly, trustingly, even as Kakashi lowered the headband to cover them. 

Kakashi’s hand then parted from the heated flesh of Iruka’s cheek, grudgingly, and came up to his own mask. He gripped the porcelain and pulled it up. The thin cord that held it on caught in his hair before coming loose. Resting it on the top of the training pole beside them, Kakashi worked on the next mask that separated them. His index finger hooked it and drew it down, over his nose and mouth, until it bunched beneath his chin. Now he could feel Iruka’s breaths against his bare skin, could feel the moist humidity, could taste the scent of Iruka as it clung to the air between them. Black tea and sweat and paper and earth.

Their lips met, and Iruka’s trembled beneath him. They were soft and hot, melting against his as Kakashi pressed against them, unwilling to allow even a centimeter of space to separate them now. Their noses brushed and he tilted his head to the side, changing the angle, and that made it even better. His chin bumped Iruka’s and his stubble caught roughly on Iruka’s smooth skin. Kakashi’s eyes had closed at some point, but it didn’t matter, because he could feel _Iruka_ , intimately, could feel the slight shift in air as Iruka breathed in through his nose. Kakashi wanted to feel more. 

His mouth worked languidly against Iruka’s, savoring every tantalizing moment of the experience. But soon enough the gentle glide of lips wasn’t quite enough. He pressed for more. Kakashi’s tongue darted out to run along the seam of Iruka’s lips, which had been pliant but barely moving against his. Iruka inhaled sharply, lips parting, and Kakashi’s tongue slipped inside, meeting Iruka’s. He tasted like heat and water, a hint of salt, and some spice that Kakashi couldn’t name but for which he would gladly spend the rest of his life searching. It was addicting, a powerful elixir, and the slow slide of Kakashi’s tongue in Iruka’s mouth was divine. 

He licked carefully, deliberately, tasting every inch and demanding more. Iruka’s lips parted wider to accommodate him, his tongue moved sensually against Kakashi’s, and his fingers tightened on Kakashi’s hips, nearly bruising. Kakashi gave a low, throaty hum in response. His own hands gripped Iruka’s waist and wrapped around his neck, index finger resting on his nape. Soft strands of hair brushed against his fingers. 

It was exquisite, but it still wasn’t enough. Kakashi needed more. Something was building between them, something powerful, something that could override the intense feeling of loss that ached in Kakashi’s belly. His teeth joined the kiss, scraping across Iruka’s lower lip. He drew it between his teeth, grazing it with sharp canines, and the action pulled a desperate moan from Iruka. It was a wrecked sound, something between pain and lust, and full of sheer need. Kakashi’s pelvis tilted forward, pressing his center against Iruka’s hip firmly. His skin tingled and pleasure flooded his body, making him groan as all sensation centered on that point of contact between them, where his erection ground into Iruka’s thigh. 

Then, he felt answering hardness against his own.

Abruptly, everything stopped. Blunt nails dug into Kakashi’s hips, their lips froze against each other, and Iruka’s lip slid from Kakashi’s teeth. They were both breathing hard. Iruka was saying something, his codename, but Kakashi could barely comprehend it as realization of their situation dawned on him. His eyes snapped open as he pulled a few inches away.

He took in Iruka’s debauched appearance: kiss-swollen lips parted and panting, a glorious flush leading past the collar of his shirt, his hair partially out of its ponytail and a few tendrils hanging loose around his jaw. He was a damn vision, and Kakashi had the sudden urge to remove his eyepatch, to capture this image with his sharingan for the rest of time. 

That was the final thought that broke the spell. Kakashi pulled away entirely, stumbling back several steps in his haste to get away. Cool air rushed into the space between them like a vacuum. Iruka’s hands fell, hovering with uncertainty for a moment before moving up, towards the hitai-ate which was still firmly covering his eyes. 

“Inu, what--” Iruka started, confusion steeping his hoarse voice. Kakashi pulled his cloth mask up, over his nose, hiding the shameful flush of arousal that he knew tinted his features. “Why--” 

He couldn’t decipher that tone, not entirely, but it sounded like _disappointment_ , and Kakashi’s chest ached. His thoughts raced frantically and his pulse kicked up to match. Barely formed ideas and emotions slipped in and out of his mind, and he only registered the barest bones of any of them. 

He had disappointed Iruka. He had taken advantage of Iruka’s caring nature, his trust in Inu. He had taken what should have never been his, what someone like Kakashi couldn’t even begin to deserve.

Kakashi grabbed his porcelain mask. He finished affixing it to his face just as Iruka started to pull up the hitai-ate. 

“I’m sorry.” Kakashi mumbled roughly, brokenly. His hands flashed through seals that carried him away before he could see the disappointment reflected in those brown eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took an extra day to edit! I think the last two chapters will take a little extra time, too. I roughly anticipate them coming out on Saturday and Wednesday, but that may change. 
> 
> Once again, your comments are so amazing, and I can't even tell you how much I appreciate them.
> 
> I have a beta! After I finish publishing the final chapter, I'll be going back and editing each chapter based on their suggestions, but it won't be any huge, story-altering changes. However, if any of you do ever choose to re-read, hopefully everything will flow just a little better, and there'll be fewer glaring errors.

Kakashi undressed on auto-pilot. His mask and uniform were shoved into a storage scroll and locked in the chest under his bed, to be cleaned later. He would have to requisition replacement gloves, but he had a spare scroll with uniform, in case he was called out again before that. 

Stumbling naked to the shower, he turned on the water and waited for it to heat. He was certain that he would freeze to death if he worsened the cold already seeping into his bones. 

Resting his arms on either side of his tiny sink, Kakashi’s eye fixed on the mirror in front of him. 

He rarely saw his own face. He wore his mask even when alone and had learned to avert his eyes when near his own reflection, only looking when absolutely necessary.

Now, he took a moment to stare.

Frankly put, he looked like shit. 

The blood that had previously filled his erection had apparently traveled north, flushing his skin from his zyphoid to his temples. The purest red sat high on his cheekbones, like the thick rouge of a prostitute. By contrast, the scar over his sharingan stood out starkly against the flush, a line of almost perfect white. His hair stuck to his forehead and neck in damp strands, and silver stubble thickly coated his chin, a sign he had gone too long without shaving again. The bruise on his right arm had bloomed into a dark purple monstrosity that made its presence known in a deep ache when he flexed his forearm. 

His skin was warm, but his muscles and organs felt coated in frostbite. His fingers were growing numb, shivers wracking his slender frame. The cool porcelain of his sink, where he rested against it with hands and abdomen, certainly didn’t help, but he felt stuck to it, like a child’s tongue to a metal pole in winter. 

Eventually, the mirror fogged up. Kakashi watched as his reflection was slowly obscured until the only thing that was left of him was a blurry shape of grey and peach. Then he pried his fingers apart and stepped under the hot spray. 

He stood in the shower for a long time. As his body started to warm up, the teeth-rattling cold swept away by the heat of the water, Kakashi’s brain also started coming online. He let it happen slowly, washing his body and hair on automatic while his mind worked.

It started gradually, with a few specific thoughts shining through, more images than words: Iruka, head tipped back to drink. Iruka, flushed and wide-eyed. Iruka, lips parted and panting. Suddenly, Kakashi could taste heat on his tongue. 

He nearly stumbled in his haste to get out of the shower, slamming down the knob with enough force to make his fingers ache. He barely dried himself before rushing to his room, throwing on boxer briefs and sweatpants. Reaching for a sleeveless jounin shirt, he hesitated before grabbing a sleeved one instead. 

Even though he had no plans to leave his apartment until Tsunade called for him, he wanted to be covered. He felt as though the corners of his room could peer down on him and see his shame through the thin skin of his arms. 

He pulled the mask high over the bridge of his nose, then reached for the hitai-ate on the shelf above his bed. Once his sharingan was covered, he sat on the firm mattress, back pressed up against the wall and knees drawn up almost to his chest. The only light came from the lamp on his desk, casting dim shadows around the room. His curtains were drawn, but no light filtered in through the cracks. Night must have fallen.

He felt like donning two masks, or three, or possibly just shoving his head under the covers and never coming out. He could get some goggles, like Obito used to have, or perhaps the sunglasses most Aburame wore. Anything to cover the quarter of his face that normally showed, to hide _all of him_. His skin felt raw and exposed, his crimes surely visible to the naked eye. 

It didn’t matter that Iruka had no idea who kissed him. Kakashi was certain he would die from his own suffocating guilt the next time he came face-to-face with the chuunin.

That was really the main crux of the matter, though: Iruka didn’t know. He didn’t know who Inu really was, couldn’t possibly consent without all the information at hand. Kakashi had taken advantage of Iruka, of his kindness and his affection for Inu. He had accosted Iruka, pinned him, and _begged_ for more. What had Iruka thought of him?

His mind was fully alive now, writhing and boiling, spitting thoughts at him like sparks from a fire.

Iruka hadn’t pushed Kakashi away, but that could have been chalked up to fear of an ANBU with killing intent and blood splatters aplenty. He had said, at first, that Kakashi was hurting him. 

Kakashi tried to swallow around a painful knot of self-disgust. He wondered if Iruka had finger-shaped bruises on his wrists. He had let go immediately after that, come back to himself at least enough to realize that Iruka wasn’t a threat, but that didn’t make up for any damage he might have caused. 

Iruka had kissed him back. That was the point that Kakashi got stuck on, the thing that didn’t make sense and somehow made the sickening churn in his stomach all the worse. Perhaps Iruka had decided it was better to go with it than risk a violent reaction by pushing Kakashi away. Perhaps he had just felt sorry for Kakashi, _pitited_ him, and in his infinite kindness, done what he could to help Kakashi come down from his adrenaline fueled high. 

Kakashi felt dirty. He wondered if he should have taken longer in the shower, should have tried to wash away feeling of Iruka’s body against his, because it was a lingering pleasure that he didn’t deserve. And that was one other thing, something that Kakashi had been too blown away to fully register at the time, that he couldn’t help but think he must have misremembered: Iruka’s interest, firm against his thigh. 

But even if Iruka’s body had responded, that didn’t mean his mind agreed, and it didn’t do anything to assuage Kakashi’s remorse. Whatever Iruka’s response, even if it had been wholly positive, it hadn’t been for _Kakashi_.

He rested his wrists on his knees and stared at his hands unseeingly. Iruka seemed to be friendly towards him, in general. He knew the chuunin often found him irritating at the mission desk, and they had disagreed rather publicly over the chuunin exam, but Iruka had forgiven him for that. They were, at the least, affable acquaintances, probably on the same level as Kakashi and Asuma, or Kurenai. But there was nothing sexual or romantic between them. There was nothing in their few dinners together, or Iruka’s offer for another, to suggest they were anything other than purely platonic.

No, if Iruka knew that Inu was Kakashi, he would probably feel cheated, betrayed. He would be shocked that Kakashi had taken advantage of him, stalked him, watched him for years without saying a word. He likely assumed that Inu was someone he didn’t know at all, just a nameless ANBU who rarely dealt with the public, like Tenzou. 

How could Kakashi fix this mess? How could he make up for what he had done? How could he begin to explain it to Iruka? What even was there to explain? He had gone too far, gotten too greedy, taken what should never have been his. He had ruined even the simple, innocent relationship between Inu and Iruka, and now he had literally nothing. Iruka was undoubtedly angry, and was likely contemplating driving bamboo shoots under Inu’s thumbnails, or some equally devious torture. Kakashi had no doubt Iruka could be more creative than Morino Ibiki, if he wanted to be. 

Most of all, Kakashi wanted to know that Iruka was alright, that he wasn’t upset or hurt. He wanted to apologize, but he also thought Iruka might kill him for trying. 

Was just staying away for a few more months or years taking the coward’s way out? Or was it selflessly putting his own needs aside in favor of Iruka’s likely desire to never see Inu again? 

Two hours. 

That was how long Kakashi had to sulk and ruminate upon his many failures as a human being. Then the knock came. 

At first, Kakashi ignored it. If it was ANBU, they would have come to his window. If it was Guy, he would have burst through the door. If it was anyone else, they could just fuck right off. All of the jounin knew where he lived, since most of them shared his apartment block, but not a single one called on him for simple social pleasantries, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tolerate that starting now. 

Another knock. He ignored it again. 

“Kakashi!” 

His head whipped up, eye widening to ridiculous proportions as he stared at the door as if he could see through the wood. His heart stopped and then started to beat double-time. 

Wild thoughts raced. _Iruka_. Did he know what Kakashi had done? Had he come for his pound of flesh? No, Kakashi was overreacting. There was no reason Iruka would know who Inu was. If Kakashi had managed to keep his identity hidden for almost fifteen years, a single kiss surely wasn’t going to change that.

Iruka didn’t _sound_ like he knew, either. If anything, he just sounded a bit annoyed. Kakashi couldn’t feel any killing intent coming from beyond his door, at least. So Iruka was there for something else, surely. Maybe if Kakashi pretended he wasn’t home, the teacher would go away. Then he could ask for a year-long mission to the Land of Water. 

“I know you’re in there. You can’t hide.”

Well. That could have been a bluff. It was safer not to respond.

“I’m not bluffing, and I’m not going away. You might as well open the door.”

That was his teacher voice. Kakashi recognized it well enough from spying on his classroom. Perhaps Iruka really was just guessing, or perhaps he had used his unknown sensory abilities to locate Kakashi’s chakra in the room. Either way, it seemed as though Kakashi wasn’t going to be left in peace. Escaping through the window was always an option, but Iruka would find him eventually, and then Kakashi would have to face questions he certainly did not want to answer. If Iruka truly didn’t know he was Inu, then it was safer to act as though nothing was unusual. 

Slinking off the bed, he approached the door like it was an exploding tag. He slipped his left hand in his pocket and took a slow breath, centering himself. When he let it out, he forced his shoulders to fall, relaxing into his normal lazy slouch despite the tension thrumming through him, trying to pull him taut like a rubber band. 

Kakashi opened the door a few inches, cutting off the view of the rest of his apartment with his body. His visible eye curved upwards in a feigned smile that didn’t touch his lips. “Iruka. What a pleasant surprise.”

“May I come in?” Iruka wasn’t smiling. His face was a stubborn mask, and though his tone was polite enough, his shoulders were squared and jaw set in a manner that made Kakashi certain he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. 

Kakashi tried anyway. “Ah, now isn’t the best time, sensei. I’m afraid I’m a bit busy at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow?” He started to shut the door, only hoping it would be that easy. 

It wasn’t. 

“No, we’re doing this now.” Iruka stepped forward and pushed at the door, forcing Kakashi to either move, slam the door in Iruka’s face, or end up with an arm full of sensei. While both of those latter options were tempting, he wasn’t sure he could handle the fallout of either. Their hips brushed as Iruka slipped inside. 

He stood in the middle of the room and looked around, eyes landing on the two pictures near Kakashi’s bed, one of team Minato and the other of Team Seven. Kakashi took the moment to observe Iruka, overlaying his image from hours before with the prim, fastidiously-dressed chuunin in his apartment. Iruka wasn’t wearing his flak jacket, but other than that he looked the same as always, hair not a strand out of place and hitai-ate tied neatly at his forehead. 

Kakashi forced himself to look away as he shut the door. “What can I do for you, sensei?” He asked, cool and detached on the surface. He leaned against the door, crossing his legs at the ankles. His fingernails dug into the meat of his thighs from within his pockets. 

Iruka shifted to face him, turning his full attention back to Kakashi. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and his lips pressed together firmly. He cleared his throat and then paused for a few seconds, like he was steeling his courage. It wasn’t until his gaze lifted to meet Kakashi’s that the jounin realized Iruka had been staring at his mask. 

“I want to know why you kissed me.” 

The floor fell out from underneath him. That was what it felt like, at least. His stomach dropped to the soles of his feet and his head spun. He froze, absolutely still while he stared at Iruka, at those familiar brown eyes that looked at him with expectation, and determination, and _fuck_ , Iruka _knew_. He _knew_ it was Kakashi, he knew everything, and suddenly the air was too thick to breathe, sticking in his throat like tar. Sweat beaded on his palms and soaked into the mask where it touched his upper lip. Kakashi realized he was going into fight-or-flight mode about the same time he started seriously considering how much it would hurt to dive out of a still-closed window.

“Hatake Kakashi, I swear to the Shodaime that if you run away again, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” 

Kakashi’s eye focused back on Iruka from where it had been staring at the fabric covering half-inch thick glass. It was tempting to say he was already in Hell, but he wasn’t quite that melodramatic, and he had more important things on his mind at the moment. Like how fast was Iruka? He had never actually fought with the man, so he couldn’t know for sure, but at the worst he could use a substitution or a shadow clone. 

No. Kakashi forced himself to take a deep breath, staying off the hyperventilation he had been nearing, if the tingling of his lips was anything to go by. He swallowed, pushing off of the door to stand upright. There were only a few feet between him and Iruka. The distance seemed insurmountably large compared to that afternoon. He let that distance reflect itself in him internally, let himself react the way he would have to this same situation not so many years ago. When he spoke, his voice held the sort of frigid, dispassionate quality that had once helped perpetuate the nickname “Cold-Blooded Kakashi.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

As far as deflections went, it wasn’t a very good one. But his tone was sharp and cutting as a katana, a warning, and it would play on any uncertainty that may have lingered in Iruka’s mind. If there was any chance of getting out of this situation, any at all, it would be by convincing Iruka he had the wrong person. 

His tone had some effect, at first. Doubt flashed across Iruka’s features and he took a half step back, as if facing a physical attack. Then he stilled, and the doubt disappeared as quickly as it had come. Iruka crossed his arms over his chest defensively and glared. 

“Don’t even try that, Kakashi. There’s no point lying. It’s not like I’m going to run and tell the Godaime.” Iruka scoffed, but there was a flush across his nose, and the way his eyes darted away made it seem like the confrontation wasn’t quite as easy for him as he was trying to make it appear. “You didn’t purposefully give away your identity, so you didn’t technically break code.” 

That had really been the last worry on Kakashi’s mind, although he supposed it should have been at the forefront. At the moment, getting an earful and disciplinary action from Tsunade just didn’t seem near as important as Iruka figuring out his identity _right after the fucking kiss_. 

“Why can’t you just--” Iruka broke off heavily, letting out an exasperated huff. “You know that was dangerous, right?” He asked after a moment, fixing Kakashi with a pointed, accusatory glare. “ _You_ were dangerous. You shouldn’t have been in the village, in that state.”

Kakashi could have denied it again. He wanted to. He wanted to keep denial wrapped around him like a thick, impenetrable cloak, blocking him from the downfall of fifteen years of secrecy.

But Kakashi couldn’t run away from what he had done. He had _hurt Iruka_ , however briefly.

“I know.” Kakashi murmured quietly. 

It wasn’t terribly unusual for ANBU, or even jounin, to return still keyed up from a battle. It was a peril of the job, when the mind started to shut down before the body did. Normally, ANBU worked off steam together, through sex or sparring, in the depths of the ANBU complex hidden far below the stone heads. But Kakashi’s team hadn’t been available and he wouldn’t have been able to use either of those techniques, anyway; the former because he was their captain, and the latter because they were too inexperienced, too likely to get hurt if Kakashi had gone at them with the bloodlust that had been pouring from him then. Tenzou had always been able to calm Kakashi down, or use mokuton to secure him if absolutely necessary. That had happened only once, but it was an experience Kakashi wouldn’t forget. 

He hadn’t been in that dangerous a state for years, and he had foolishly thought he could control himself, that it wasn’t as bad as the previous times. He probably would have been fine, if Iruka hadn’t turned so suddenly, hadn’t set off every combative instinct in Kakashi’s body. Still, Iruka was right. Kakashi shouldn’t have taken the risk.

It seemed that Iruka hadn’t been expecting Kakashi to acquiesce so easily. It was like popping a hot air balloon. He deflated, silent for a moment before sighing deeply. Shaking his head slightly, he looked back to Kakashi. “Just tell me why you did it.”

Kakashi didn’t have a good answer. “I… just got back from a mission.” He spoke thickly, unevenly. “I wasn’t thinking. I was trying to find somewhere to work out my adrenaline. I saw you, and--”

“I’m not asking why you pinned me.” Iruka cut him off sharply. “I mean, why did you kiss me?” Kakashi’s jaw snapped closed. Iruka continued, a hand coming up to scrub at his scar as he sighed in frustration. “I know what happens when people get back from the types of missions ANBU are sent on. I know a lot of people use sex as a coping mechanism. In that state, a lot of people don’t care who they… who they’re with. So, my question is… did you care?” 

Iruka’s flush carried to the very tips of his ears, but he looked straight at Kakashi, determination in the cut of his jaw. “Would you have done that to anyone, or… was it because it was me?” His voice grew a touch softer on the last words, his tone wavering, betraying uncertainty despite his tenacious stance.

Iruka was preparing himself for the worst, but Kakashi wasn’t certain which option that was--to be treated like just a useful object for Kakashi’s gratification, or to be the subject of desire of someone Iruka had, at least in some strange way, known and trusted since childhood? 

Kakashi knew what the real answer was. He had never once, in the last few hours, blamed his adrenaline high for kissing Iruka. But there was so much at stake. Iruka held Kakashi’s world in his hands, and Kakashi was petrified, uncertain if his next words would give Iruka the incentive he needed to crush him where he stood, to cut him off entirely, as both Inu and Kakashi. 

It didn’t matter. Kakashi had lied plenty of times in his life, both for Konoha and for himself. He had no naive notion that honesty was always the best policy. But if he was going to lose everything he had left, it wasn’t going to be due to a lie. 

“Because it was you.”

Iruka let out a deep, shuddery breath, and for an instant, there was unmistakable _relief_ in those sorrel eyes. Then his jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed. He glared at Kakashi and took an aggressive step forward. Kakashi’s gaze strayed down to Iruka’s lips, and he watched as they formed around incensed words. 

"Do you know how long it's been?" He demanded, and there was distress beneath the pique on the surface, his voice heavy with emotion. "Over a _decade_ , I've known you were watching me. Over a _decade_ since I started thinking of you as my friend. Then, you disappeared, without a single trace. And maybe that was for a good reason, I don't know, but did you even _think_ about how it made me feel?" 

Kakashi wasn't given time to respond. Iruka turned away, pacing up and down the small strip of space in Kakashi's apartment. "Then you left me that message. And I'm grateful for that, don't get me wrong, but do you know how frustrating it was, to know you were there, _alive_ , but with no idea how to reach you?” He gestured vehemently with his hands and shot Kakashi a vicious glare, one laden with many years of hurt. “No idea why _you_ wouldn't reach out to _me_? Do you know how many hours I sat at the memorial stone, just waiting for you to appear?"

Iruka kept going, apparently building up more steam with every second of his rant. His eyes glinted with righteous indignation. "Then you came to the hospital, and I thought maybe you would come back after that, but you didn’t, not for months. You finally came only after I was certain, _once again_ , that you were dead. And you told me all those things, and I thought that time that something would change, that you would stay with me, but you didn't. Someone had to almost or literally _die_ for you to see me again, every single time. Has it ever occurred to you, Hatake Kakashi, in your _infinite genius_ , how much of an _asshole_ you are?" 

Kakashi had actually been told that same thing, many times before, but never had he felt it so thoroughly as he did then.

"I kept trying to get closer to you, in any way possible, and you just shut me down. I've respected your boundaries and tried not to push. I accepted that you didn’t want anything more. But then you--you _kiss_ me, and run away like a pre-genin! Even my students are more emotionally mature than you, and Asahi tried to cut off Kimiko's ponytail the other day because he thought it was _pretty_!" 

Kakashi privately thought Asahi sounded like a little psychopath in the making, but there were more pressing matters at the moment. He was starting to get the idea that he had been very mistaken about this entire interaction. "You're angry that I left?” Kakashi cut in abruptly. “Not that I--kissed you?"

Iruka finally stopped pacing, bracing his hands on his hips as he turned to look at Kakashi, annoyed confusion furrowing his brow. Kakashi had seen him give a similar look to Naruto before. "Why would I be angry that you kissed me? I _let_ you kiss me. I thought I was pretty obvious with my consent there." He must have seen something in the small amount of Kakashi's expression visible, because he frowned more deeply, taking a step towards the jounin. "Why would I have kissed you back if I was angry about _that_?" 

Suddenly, Kakashi's reasoning didn't seem quite so sound. He blinked slowly, shifting his weight to the other foot. "Maa… I sort of thought..." Kakashi trailed off, hoping Iruka would start back on his rant, but instead he just stared. Kakashi turned his head so he wouldn’t have to see Iruka’s reaction. "You might have allowed it out of pity.” He finished dully, swallowing back the bad taste that entered his mouth with the words.

Several long moments passed, in which Iruka stared in silence and Kakashi sweated. His cheeks felt hot, and he knew the visible quarter of his face would be flushed an unseemly, ruddy hue.

"You thought I let you kiss me because… I felt sorry for you?" Iruka took another step forward, and suddenly he was all too close and staring straight at Kakashi, whose grey eye darted between Iruka and the window at a vicious pace. iruka’s voice was painfully quiet now, and Kakashi had the horrible feeling that if Iruka hadn’t pitied him before, he certainly did now. "Kakashi, that's the most idiotic thing you've ever said. I'm not that nice. In fact, that wouldn't even _be_ nice, that would be an awful thing to do. If I didn't want to kiss you, I would have pushed you away and said so. That would have been easier for both of us than stringing you along." 

Now that Iruka put it that way, it seemed rather obvious, but he really didn’t want to face how evidently messed up his own thought processes really were. Still, there was another reason Kakashi hated himself for that kiss. "How long have you known?" He asked hoarsely. His heart was beating too loudly in his ears, and he willed it to stop, because he needed to know Iruka's answer if it was the last thing he ever heard. 

(He had rather always thought he would die to the sound of a thousand birds chirping, but Iruka's voice seemed like a much more pleasant way to go.)

Iruka’s gaze finally lost its intense focus then. He blushed insanely as he glanced down at Kakashi's mask, then to the door, then to Kakashi's eyes again. "A little while." He rubbed at his scar where it intersected the side of his nose.

"Before today?" 

Iruka paused, then nodded, hand dropping loosely back to his side. Kakashi let out his breath in a gust of air, and with it, the ache in his chest, his guilt, his fear, the sick, nauseous feeling that he had forced something to which Iruka had never truly been able to consent. 

Iruka watched him carefully, lips pursing as he observed Kakashi's visible reaction to the news. His eyes narrowed and he took the final step needed to bring them together, his boots almost toe-to-toe with Kakashi’s bare feet. “I was attracted to Kakashi before Inu, you know. But even if I hadn’t been, it wouldn’t matter.” Iruka’s mouth tugged down into a disapproving frown when Kakashi didn’t respond. “I'm not a child, Kakashi, and I knew from the beginning that Inu could have been almost anyone. I knew the risks. Besides, you and Inu aren't two different people. It's still _you_ I want, either way."

There was too much there, too much for Kakashi to process all at once, but one thing stuck out. "Do you?" He wanted to reach forward, but he was caught in Iruka's eyes, in those lovely specks of amber and gold that always drew him in like gravity. Kakashi's mouth ran dry, and his words came out in a rasp. "Want me?"

Iruka's features relaxed into that same, unbearably fond expression, tinged with the sort of exasperation that Iruka must have honed during his tenure with Naruto. Normally, Kakashi might object to being put in any category similar to Naruto, but this was one way in which he had long envied the boy.

Iruka crossed the last of the distance between them with a single hand. Fingers calloused from kunai and pencils lighted on Kakashi's wrist, at his pulse point. Kakashi saw Iruka swallow, watched the way his adam's apple bobbed with the motion. Kakashi couldn't force any air into his lungs. Iruka had sucked in the atmosphere, created a void where the rest of the world had once been, and his touch was the only thing keeping Kakashi from floating into space. His entire existence focused in on that point of contact. It felt as though Iruka had absorbed his entire being, and Kakashi hung onto his response like the words of a prophet, like they could grant him salvation if only he listened well enough.

"Yes." Iruka replied simply, honestly, as if it were the most obvious and utterly true statement to ever be uttered, as if Kakashi was slightly mad to be questioning it at all. Then, with a teasing snicker, "I can't believe they call you a genius." A small smile teased his lips. Lips that Kakashi had _tasted_ , he realized with no small amount of wonder. Slowly, the smile faded, and Iruka's expression sobered. "Kakashi... what do you want from me?" He whispered.

It was a loaded question, and the weight of it settled heavily between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, pulsing through his muscles to his heart, thickening his blood until he could barely tell if it was beating. 

What did he want? There were the normal answers, the things he had told himself over and over throughout the years: he wanted to protect Konoha and the Will of Fire. He wanted to atone for his past sins, even if true forgiveness would never come. He wanted to live up to Obito's last words, and carry out Minato’s ideals. 

None of those could be the answer Iruka sought. 

What did Kakashi want for _himself_? 

What did Kakashi want from _Iruka_?

He knew what he had fantasized, he knew what he had thought about in his darkest times, but now that it was an actual possibility before him, Kakashi was terrified. He had never expected them to become reality. There was a reason those ideas had been relegated to silent nights and thoughts clouded by painkillers: 

He didn’t _deserve_ them. 

Kakashi had abandoned Rin when she needed him most. He had put the rules above his friends, watched them die one by one without doing a thing to stop it. In Obito’s own words, he was worse than trash. And even if he had spent fifteen years living by Obito’s will, chasing the shadow of a hero who had died far too young, it didn’t mean that Kakashi deserved something this _good_. 

He didn’t deserve Iruka. 

Kakashi’s throat closed and he couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn’t know what was the right thing to do, and he was painfully aware that this was _reality_ , that his words here had consequences, had the power to make or break something very, very _real_ : something that Iruka, against all odds, _wanted_. 

Iruka waited, patiently, searching Kakashi's gaze with a low, heavy intensity that made Kakashi tremble with all of the thoughts he couldn't speak. 

Iruka was waiting. 

Kakashi moved, and every minutiae of the action took a lifetime, like he was stuck in limbo. He twisted his hand slowly in Iruka's grasp, until their palms were aligned. He interleaved their fingers. He clasped tightly, as if the feel of Iruka’s skin against his own would somehow give him the answer key to decipher his own emotions. 

Some were obvious. There was shock, tentative elation, and a powerful, powerful want. But those were quickly being smothered in place of thoughts tainted by the knowledge of his own self-worth: Hesitancy. Disbelief. Guilt. Confusion. Apprehension. Doubt. And that slowly building, all-encompassing terror. 

Kakashi's hand grew moist with sweat. He felt too hot, like all of the emotions inside of him were swirling and combining into a potent, noxious mixture of fear that begged him to run, or fight, or just suffocate in its grasp. He was drowning in it. His hands were burning, his face was burning, all of him was _burning_ , and he knew he needed to say something, because Iruka was _still waiting_ , but he couldn't think. 

"I don't know." He finally whispered, brokenly, roughly. Even that barely audible exhalation scalded his lips. He could feel them blister, feel vicious snakes writhing in his belly, and he was so horribly _guilty_ , because Iruka was disappointed again, and Kakashi knew he was the cause. 

He was trembling. Kakashi squeezed his eye shut and tried to center his thoughts, tried to block out the pain his nerves were screaming at him, but it was overwhelming and he _didn't know what to do_. 

Then he felt a cool pressure against his lips. 

His eye snapped open and his pupil constricted, tried to focus, but Iruka was too close. All he could see was the blur of a single closed eyelid and the short, thick, lashes that framed it. 

Their lips pressed together through the thin material of his mask. It was chaste, unmoving, calm and soothing like the undisturbed surface of a lake. 

It was so at odds with the inferno that had been building inside Kakashi like an overheated engine, and so very different from the consuming desire that had fueled their kiss on the training ground, that it stopped Kakashi's brain in its tracks. 

Iruka held himself there for several seconds, and then he gently drew away. Kakashi could feel air stir against his cheek as Iruka breathed out softly through his nose. His eyes fluttered open and he gave Kakashi a tender, achingly kind smile. "I'm sorry, Kakashi." 

Kakashi could hardly think at all, but he knew that wasn’t right, weren’t the words that were meant to break their silence. Iruka continued before he could even think to ask. "It might have been unfair of me to barge in here and demand answers. Well..." Iruka lifted his free hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sorry for coming here, or for telling you how I feel. But I... I've been thinking about this for a while, and I guess I just assumed you had, too." Iruka gave him a wry, doleful smile. He squeezed Kakashi's fingers and then let go, taking a small step back. Kakashi wanted to reach out and stop him, grab him, pull him back close, but his body didn’t respond.

Iruka placed a hand on his upper arm and nudged him, insistently, until Kakashi was forced to take a step sideways, his back to the wall instead of the door. 

"Look..." Iruka chewed on the corner of his lower lip, palm lingering on Kakashi’s arm, a grounding pressure. "I want a relationship with you, but... I just want _you_ , even if all you can give me is your friendship.” He cleared his throat, looking away as his hand fell to the doorknob. “If you don't want anything more, I can live with that. I just want to know, so I stop wondering about what could be." The smile he flashed Kakashi then was brittle, ready to break at the slightest of pressure. "I can give you some time. So think about it, ok?"

He left, and the door shut softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15, alternatively titled: 
> 
> In Which Kakashi Freaks Out When Called On His Bullshit.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very brief implied/reference homphobia. NOT from the main characters, no one is hurt, and it's not even important enough to tag. But just so you know.
> 
> The last chapter will be up on Friday at the extreme latest, but likely even before then. 
> 
> Many of you have asked in the comments or my Wattpad account (feel free to message me there!) for a version of Unspoken from Iruka's POV. Let me tell you, I /do/ intend to write something of the sort. Originally, I was going to do an epilogue from Iruka's POV, but I decided what I wanted to write would be too long for a mere epilogue. 
> 
> So! There's a decision to make. Either I'll write a lengthy oneshot from Iruka's POV (probably about 15k words), OR I can write the entire story from Iruka's POV, although staggering it a bit to start from when he realized Kakashi was watching, to just AFTER the end of Unspoken, to see a bit of their actual relationship from Iruka's eyes. 
> 
> Which would y'all prefer? Let me know in the comments or Wattpad. Your answers will determine which one I decide to do. (I promise, if I do write the entire thing from Iruka's POV, it won't be redundant, and will include several scenes not in this work.)

Rin had expressive eyes. 

Sometimes they sparkled with excitement and their hickory hue lightened into caramel, smooth and sugary sweet. Kakashi often saw them this way as she clapped or jumped in childish glee, an excited smile widening her full lips. He liked her eyes this way the most. 

Rarely, they glinted in anger, long lashes obscuring the irises as her lids narrowed and a tiny rift formed between her brows. This normally preceded a verbal rebuke, or a sharp slap to the arm. It was never enough to hurt, no matter how much Obito complained. Kakashi could see how much he enjoyed it, anyway, noticed the happy blush that pinkened his cheeks and the small, shy smile he tried to hide. 

When Rin looked straight at Kakashi, her eyes were like a nebula, infinite in their complex shades and hues. Her pupils bloomed until he could see entire galaxies in those bottomless depths. There was a wealth of emotion pooled there like molten gold, just waiting for him to ask and set it all gushing out.

He never did. 

Sometimes, she didn’t turn away quite in time to hide her disappointment. Those times, hickory darkened to umber and glittered with a hint of tears she refused to shed. These were his least favorite of her eyes, because they made his heart lurch and time slow down as she sucked him into her with the gravitational pull of a black hole. Those dejected eyes made him feel strange, illogical things. 

This was one of those times.

“Are you going to talk to her?”

Kakashi wrenched his gaze from Rin’s retreating figure, looking to his sensei. Minato was watching Rin as well, expression gentle and reflective. Kakashi looked back in time to see Rin turn a corner and disappear from view. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He stuffed his hand in his pockets and turned the opposite direction, towards the chuunin apartment block. 

Minato stepped beside him. “I don’t mean to pry, Kakashi-kun. You don’t need to tell me anything. I just wanted to make sure that you thought about it, before your jounin exam.” 

They were definitely talking about what Kakashi thought they were, then. There were many things that would change when Kakashi became a jounin, but only one really applied to Rin: Rule Thirty-One of the Shinobi Code, which prohibited fraternization between a shinobi and someone within their direct line of command. 

“Talking to her wouldn’t do any good.” Kakashi muttered. 

A glossy calico crossed the street in front of them, likely headed to the Uchiha compound. She paused to flick her tail as he passed, then sauntered away as if he wasn’t worth her time. There were so many cats in Konoha, and every single one seemed to glare as Kakashi walked past. He wasn’t sure why all the felines hated him, but the feeling was mutual. Kakashi said that cats were cold, arrogant bastards. Obito said they were just recognizing one of their own kind. 

Rin simply laughed. 

“I don’t want to complicate things.” Kakashi finished. 

“You don’t think it's already complicated?”

“It would be worse.” Kakashi got the feeling, from Minato’s silence, that he didn’t agree but was too polite to say anything. Kakashi’s nails bit into the soft leather of his gloves. “Obito would kill me if I rejected her. If I don’t say anything, she’ll change her mind eventually. Maybe the idiot’ll even get the guts to confess.” 

“Do you really want that to happen, Kakashi-kun?” 

In that moment, Minato looked vastly wise and sympathetic, like he understood something that Kakashi couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Kakashi scowled. “We’re in the middle of a war, sensei.” He retorted, a bit more sharply than he normally would when speaking to someone he respected. He didn’t like that look, like he was missing out on something important. It made him feel unbearably young. “There’s no time to waste on stupid things like relationships. They’re just liabilities, anyway.”

“Is that so?” Minato hummed. He looked contemplatively up at a cumulus cloud floating overhead. Then he gave Kakashi a sheepish grin. “Ah, it’s not my place to push you one way or the other. You’re still young, Kakashi-kun. I don’t think you need to decide anything just yet.”

“I’m almost a jounin.” Kakashi reminded Minato with a sullen frown. “I’m not a kid.”

“I know.” Minato smiled. “But you have a lot of life left to live, and a lot of the world yet to see.” He stopped walking, placing a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder. “A shinobi must always be adaptable to change, yes? Eventually, you may view things in a different light.”

Kakashi looked away. The palm on his shoulder was a strange weight. “You’re just biased, Minato-sensei. You have Kushina-san, so you can’t be objective.”

“You might be right.” Minato chuckled as he withdrew his hand. He started to walk again, but stopped abruptly. “Actually, Kakashi-kun…” He turned to his subordinate with a kind smile. “Would you like to have dinner at my house tonight?”

Kakashi raised an unimpressed eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as he considered his captain dubiously. “You don’t seem like the type that can cook, sensei.”

“Ah, I’m not, actually.” Minato laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Kushina didn’t have a mission today. You like spicy food, don’t you?”

Kakashi did, but that wasn’t going to be enough to tempt him into what would be, at best, an extremely awkward dinner with a strange woman he barely knew. “I’m going home.” He resumed walking at a brisk pace. 

“We have fresh fruit and vegetables.” Minato insisted. “You probably don’t have anything but canned foods and ration bars, right?”

“Frozen vegetables, too.” Kakashi defended himself. He hadn’t eaten a meal with another person outside of a mission, in… well, he couldn’t remember, but it must have been before his father died. The idea of doing it again made an uncomfortable feeling churn in his stomach. He could cook for himself just fine. He also didn’t know Minato’s motives, but if it was anything even close to pity, Kakashi wanted nothing to do with it. 

“I’m sure you would love it, Kakashi-kun.” Minato continued. “Kushina’s food is the best in Konoha. Tonight, it’ll probably be curry… Yesterday she picked up zucchini, chicken, eggplant, onions--” He cut off abruptly when he realized Kakashi had stopped walking. 

“Eggplant?” 

Minato nodded, then a sudden grin lit up his features. “You like eggplant, Kakashi-kun?”

He tried to deny it, but Minato was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t relent until, eventually, Kakashi stood outside of Minato and Kushina’s modest home. 

Minato thought Kakashi was lonely. That was what he believed at first, even if his sensei was obviously far from the truth. In a way, Kakashi wasn’t entirely wrong with his assumption, but there was something more behind Minato’s offer than a single evening of company. 

The actual, more nuanced reason for the invitation clicked at some point during dinner.

That reason was in the way Kushina hadn’t expected him, but her expression quickly brightened into a delighted smile and she assured them that, yes, there was more than enough for three people. It was in the caring way Minato put sugar in her tea without asking, and the way he tried to cover his cough when a bite of particularly spicy pepper was too much for him. It was in the way Kushina pretended not to notice, but secretly shot Kakashi an indulgent grin, rolling her eyes as her husband’s poor tolerance of heat. 

It was in the way their elbows casually brushed at the tiny table meant for two. It was in the way they talked about anything and everything, sharing little details of their lives that Kakashi had never imagined people spoke about, because he had no idea someone would want to listen. It was in the protective frown on Minato’s face when she mentioned someone being rude to her in the market. It was in the respect evident in how Minato seemed fully invested in everything she said, even if the topic was completely mundane. It was the admiration in Kushina’s gaze when she listened to her husband tell a story about their last mission. It was the clear affection in the way they traded secret smiles about inside jokes that Kakashi didn’t understand.

Sometimes it felt like Kakashi was an intruder, on the outside and looking in through a window at something far too private, a view to which he shouldn’t have been privy. Then Minato or Kushina would draw him into the argument, ask him some inane question, and manage to make an entire conversation around his short, dry answer. It was enough, for a few minutes, to make Kakashi forget that he wasn’t supposed to be there, even when they politely looked only at each other when Kakashi lowered his mask to take a bite. 

And the food was good, but Kakashi stayed even after his plate was clean. Due to his lack of experience in other people’s homes, he didn’t know that it was polite to offer to help clean up. He just sat at the table, back ramrod straight, and fidgeted uncomfortably with his gloves while Minato and Kushina threw questions at him from the sink.

The reason Minato invited him was in the way he and Kushina worked as one while they did the dishes together, one drying and the other washing, their hips bumping at times. It was in the way they didn’t shy away from that contact, seemed like they hardly even _noticed_ it. 

Kakashi swallowed past a thick lump in his throat and tugged his mask higher on his nose.

Minato and Kushina were objectively fascinating, in the way that a rare bug was. Except rare bugs didn’t make Kakashi feel a keen sense of loss over something he had never even had.

Kakashi couldn’t understand how they could turn their backs on each other ( _literally_ ), and seem completely at ease. He couldn’t understand that _trust_ , how they could touch each other constantly and yet never once tense in preparation for an attack. 

Whenever someone touched him, whether it was Rin or Minato or Guy or--well, just those three, since no one else ever dared--Kakashi’s stomach flipped and he had to fight the instinctive urge to shy away. Each touch felt like too much, like an overwhelming, rough grind against his skin, more abrasive than any punch or kick. Just the weight of a hand on his arm took his entire focus, made him twitch with the desire to run or fight until the acute sensation was gone.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew not everything felt the same way about physical touch as he did. But still, he had never seen any two people do it as casually as Minato and Kushina. They moved like they were one body instead of two, fluid waters mixing and existing peacefully in the same space. 

After the dishes were done, Minato offered to walk home with Kakashi. The younger took that as a sign to leave, but vehemently denied the offer. This time, Minato listened. He watched as Kakashi stepped outside and turned in the direction of the chuunin barracks. His smile had been so gentle, so unbelievably _kind_. Kakashi didn’t look back as he walked away, but it was many seconds before he heard the door shut behind him.

A week later, Minato invited him for dinner again. 

After only a token amount of resistance, Kakashi accepted.

There were a few times, after that, when Kakashi looked into Rin’s fathomless eyes and saw staring back at him the same blatant affection and fondness he had seen in Kushina’s. 

It made him wonder. 

Not often. Just… occasionally. A few times, when Obito was late and Rin only had eyes for Kakashi. 

Did she want to touch him the way Minato and Kushina did each other? Did Rin want their hips to bump, or their elbows to brush, or their hands to lock? Did she want to listen to little things about his day, or the novel he was reading, or the things he found difficult in training? Did she want to be his home, a place to come back to other than his empty and lifeless apartment? Did she want to share his space, his thoughts... his life?

Would her hair feel like silk between his fingers?

He only wondered these things a few times. Just a few. 

Then he became a jounin, and Obito died. 

Kakashi stopped wondering. 

The sound of the door shutting behind Iruka was eerily similar to when Minato had closed his own. 

It sounded like Kakashi was being blocked out, cut off from something warm and inviting, that he knew he could have if he only reached out... and yet also knew, deep in his gut, should never truly be his. 

It sounded like _loss_. 

As Kakashi stood there, back resting heavily against the hard wall, he wondered if he should go after Iruka, open that door and finally find what lay on the other side. 

No. He couldn’t. It would only hurt Iruka if he went now, based on instincts instead of logic. He needed to know what to say first.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Kakashi shuffled the few feet to his bed and collapsed on the covers, staring unseeingly at the flat ceiling above. 

A _relationship_.

A relationship meant commitment. 

A relationship meant honesty, and trust, and the willingness to stay and talk things over when things got uncomfortable, instead of just using a hasty shunshin to run away. 

A romantic relationship meant… well, other than those things, Kakashi wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. He didn’t have many real-life examples to go by. His mother had died in childbirth and his father had never remarried. Most of his acquaintances were either single or trying poorly to hide it (in the case of Asuma and Kurenai). Apart from Jiraiya’s books, which even Kakashi realized should be taken with a grain of salt, his only knowledge of marriage or romance came from Minato and Kushina.

The idea of having that sort of relationship with someone, of being so intimately tied to another person… it was as appealing as it was terrifying. It had never been something he realistically expected for himself, not even when he, very briefly, considered what such a thing would be like with Rin. 

It was just a distant dream, the way that a poor person fantasizes of winning the lottery. 

Could Kakashi even function in an actual relationship? He was used to being alone, used to only being accountable for himself and his subordinates. Even if he wanted what Minato and Kushina had, that didn’t mean he was capable of doing it, of opening himself up to that degree. 

The basic ingredients for a romantic relationship, like the one Minato and Kushina had, could be boiled down to a few words, ones that Kakashi had seen during those dinners and remembered ever since: 

Respect. Admiration. Caring. Trust. Protection. Affection. 

He knew he felt those things for Iruka. He had (and Kakashi shivered to realize it now) told Iruka those exact words, only he hadn’t been thinking of Minato and Kushina at the time.

The only thing left, the only thing that Kakashi had refused to say, to even think within the confines of his own mind, because he was so very certain that he didn’t deserve it… was love. 

Kakashi had never loved anyone in more than a familial sense. He had loved his father. He liked Rin, but not really in the way that she wanted had him. Kakashi had often thought he hated Obito, but that had never quite been true. He had respected Minato, viewed him almost like an older brother of sorts. He had cared for Kushina because Minato did, because he felt as though it was his duty to protect his sensei’s wife, even before he was officially assigned that task. 

Did he love Iruka? 

What did he _want_ from Iruka? 

He wanted to be able to talk openly, like friends. He wanted to listen to Iruka’s day at the Academy, like he used to, and finally say aloud the funny comments that sounded so witty in his head, and learn if Iruka found them amusing, too. He wanted to look at Iruka, watch him as he did normal things like grade papers, or make tea, or eat ramen, or fall asleep on his desk. He wanted to tell Iruka about his own thoughts and fears, admit to him things that Kakashi had never told anyone before. He wanted to come home to him after a long mission, to fall asleep in bed next to him, to cook food that made him smile. 

He wanted to brush Iruka’s hair and touch him in small, casual ways, like rubbing circles on the back of his neck, or holding his hand, or bumping hips while doing dishes. He wanted to be near Iruka, even when they weren’t talking at all. He wanted to return home and sit down together on the couch, thighs pressed flush but without speaking. Just reading together, or taking a nap. Just _existing_ in the same space. 

He wanted to _show_ Iruka how beautiful he was. He wanted to worship Iruka’s body, explore every muscle, watch his face morph in the heights of pleasure and see those eyes looking at _him_ in return, and not just into the blank holes of an ANBU mask. 

There were still so many things he wanted to know, wanted to learn about Iruka. He would listen to it all, given the chance. He wanted it so badly that it was a physical ache, an actual pain in his chest, as real as the chidori.

Was that love? 

_Damn it._ That wasn’t what he should have been considering. He was jumping straight into the heart of the matter before even looking at all the variables. He needed to take a step back, think about things logically. Iruka hadn’t asked if Kakashi _loved him_ ; he had asked if Kakashi wanted a _relationship_ , and that was much easier to quantify. First, Kakashi needed to look at all the negatives, all of the problems with a potential relationship between him and Iruka.

Kakashi was sexually attracted to Iruka. That much he had known for years, and it had never surprised him. In truth, it had happened long before he even realized it. But Kakashi had never been opposed to men sexually, even from a young age. He had even slept with Genma twice, not to mention a rather heavy petting session with a target from his previous ANBU years who’d had a bit of a pension for teenage boys. 

The fact that Iruka was a man wasn’t what kept Kakashi up at night, but it was, admittedly, a complicating factor. 

Shinobi were very good at separating the physical and emotional; sex and love were no different. 

Most shinobi had the firm view that what happened on a mission stayed on a mission, and that extended to some degree even within the village walls. However, romance with someone of the same gender was completely different, and overall, not particularly well accepted. It was the same in any society that greatly emphasized lineage. Not only was the death rate for shinobi higher than the world average, thus necessitating an equally high birth rate for the success of Hidden villages, but important traits were passed along genetically. This meant that most shinobi felt they had a duty to procreate and pass on their genes. 

Even without a kekkei genkai like the byakugan or mokuton, the affinity for chakra was often inherited. There had been random civilian children who showed enough promise to make it into the Academy and become shinobi, but they were few and far in between, as were the shinobi children who were incapable of using ninjutsu, like Rock Lee. In general, shinobi bred and made more shinobi. It was their sacred duty. A romantic relationship with someone of the same gender wouldn’t turn out a plethora of biological kids, and thus was severely discouraged, particularly by the old clans such as the Hyuuga or, once upon a time, the Uchiha. 

Of course, none of that really applied to Kakashi. The Hatake name had been disgraced long ago, by his father, and while he had restored a good bit of it with his own stunning reputation, he wasn’t exactly drowning in potential marriage suitors. Nor was he interested in continuing the line. If he had been dead set on restoring the Hatake clan then he would have married and had children years ago, given his low expectations of his own lifespan. Kakashi was also relatively unconcerned with being seen as a sexual deviant, as evidenced by his very public perusal of porn. While he had never really considered the probable consequences of keeping a man as a romantic partner (since he hadn’t expected to find a romantic partner _period_ ), he wouldn’t mind the stigma that came attached with it. 

Iruka was different. Iruka might want children. He also had a reputation to consider as a teacher, and while Kakashi didn’t think Iruka would lose his job over something like a male partner, he would certainly lose the respect of several of the children’s parents, and that would be important to him. Finally, Iruka was the last of his clan name. From what Kakashi knew, the Umino had hailed from Uzushio before its destruction, and there may have been more Umino scattered in the other countries. But Iruka was at least the head of his clan in Konoha, and might feel a responsibility to marry and produce heirs, even though he had no kekkei genkai to pass on. 

But... as Iruka had said himself, he wasn’t a child. He was intelligent and capable of considering such things himself. If he was asking Kakashi for a relationship, then he had already decided all of those repercussions were worth the risk. And now that Kakashi was really thinking about it, it was likely that Iruka saw Naruto as his successor--although their relationship was more akin to brothers than father and child, it fulfilled some of the same needs. Iruka had someone to look after, to care for even outside of his students, and Naruto was likely already listed Iruka’s next of kin. 

Iruka had also proven, more than once, that he was headstrong and didn’t care much about what the rest of the village thought of him. If he did, he would have never taken Naruto under his wing, not with the ire that the jinchuuriki had drawn back then. No, Iruka wouldn’t be cowed by the sneers or protests of the ancient clans. He would probably yell at Kakashi for even considering it. 

Really, their biggest obstacles lay not in anyone else, but in _them_. 

What if Iruka didn’t like him? It seemed like a juvenile way to phrase it, but the concern was very real. Kakashi had known Iruka for a long time, longer than the chuunin even realized. He had listened to Iruka talk about anything and everything, and he knew some of Iruka’s deepest emotional scars. By comparison, Iruka knew relatively little about Kakashi. What if they started a relationship, got closer, and he grew disillusioned? What if he realized exactly how messed up Kakashi really was? What if Kakashi made some mistake, fucked things up entirely, and he was left with _nothing_ , not even Iruka’s friendship?

In truth, Kakashi knew what he wanted. If he didn’t want Iruka, in every horribly, frighteningly intimate way, he wouldn’t have been trying so hard to convince himself that he couldn’t have it. If he just wanted Iruka’s friendship, he could have asked for that years ago. If he just wanted Iruka sexually, he could have instigated something. Kakashi wasn’t a stranger to sex. He could have tried for something casual, like he had with Anko. 

But Kakashi had always known he wanted more--always known that, if he got that close, it would only hurt more to be denied the entire picture.

He had always known that he wanted Iruka’s love. 

Now it was within his grasp.

Tenzou’s house was a little different from how Kakashi remembered it. Back in ANBU, it had been a simple little cottage in the middle of the woods, rectangular and made entirely of smooth, featureless logs. Now it was a regal, two storied endeavour, with a balcony and large overhanging. Ivy grew in an intricate pattern along the railings, and large sakura trees sat on either side, beautiful even without their characteristic blossoms. 

Fortunately, it was just as easy to break into. 

The inside was surprisingly cozy, all earth tones and natural materials. There were plenty of windows to provide natural lighting, though now they were dark as the last of the stars began to fade from the sky. Rugs covered the wooden floors and bookcases were built into the walls. Much to Kakashi’s disappointment, the Icha Icha series was not featured. Most of the texts were academic, their topics ranging from botany to philosophy. 

There was a large tapestry across from the four-poster bed, depicting nymphs and deer frolicking around a stunning lake. Carved wooden sculptures filled corners and shelves, some rough and abstract, others evidently done with the help of mokuton. In one room on the lower level sat a carpenter’s table and a plethora of woodworking tools, from chisels to lathes. 

The couch was harder than Kakashi preferred, but the fabric was soft and the pillows softer. He lay on his back to wait. The ceiling was also wood, unsurprisingly, and the patterns in the grain caught his eye until he drifted to sleep. 

He awoke to the sound of the front door opening. He kept his eyes closed, hands resting limply on his belly. There was a long pause before the door shut again. 

“I just came from the Hokage’s office, so I presume you don’t have a message from her.” Tenzou surmised. His footsteps were heavy for an ANBU, but Kakashi still had to strain to hear them as Tenzou walked across the worn rug. He came to a standstill in front of the couch. “Why are you here, senpai?”

“Maa, Tenzou, can’t I just come and see an old friend?” Kakashi cracked his eye open to see the man staring down at him. Tenzou looked suspicious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. He also looked tired, happuri slightly askew and his ANBU mask held loosely in his right hand. It wasn’t long after sunrise, judging by the orange stain above the trees, and Tenzou had always hated night missions. At least there weren’t any blood splatters on his standard-issue uniform.

“Oh, are we friends? I seem to have forgotten in the two years you’ve spent avoiding me.” Tenzou huffed, turning away towards his bedroom. Kakashi wasn’t fooled. If Tenzou were actually upset about that, he would have come to see Kakashi himself. Their relationship was built on trust and forged in battle; it wasn’t the sort of thing that required talking. Kakashi knew that, even if he disappeared for sixty years, he could come back to Konoha and find Tenzou waiting to give him an earful. Then he’d offer Kakashi tea, like the intervening years had never happened. “If this isn’t official, I’m getting undressed.” 

“Moving a little fast, aren’t you? You haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

“And I’m not going to! You better not have eaten my persimmons.” Tenzou’s muffled voice called from the other room. “I just got those.”

“Don’t worry.” Kakashi’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’m not interested in your persimmons.” 

“What are you interested in?” Tenzou stopped abruptly in the doorway to the room. He groaned and covered his face with a hand. “Don’t even say it, senpai. I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Eh? Say what?” Kakashi asked, eye round and innocent. Tenzou just shot him a glare before moving into the kitchen. His happuri and uniform were gone, now clad in threadbare green sweats with brown shirt and socks. Kakashi wondered if he was trying to camouflage with the ground.

“Anything. Just--don’t say _anything_. Not until I’ve had something to drink.”

Kakashi reluctantly forced himself into a sitting position when Tenzou came back, propping himself up against the arm of the couch. “You drink now?” 

“Whatever you’re here for, it requires alcohol.” Tenzou returned. He set the wooden tray on the table in front of the couch and sat in the space Kakashi had recently vacated. “I hope you don’t mind if we forgo the ceremony.” He poured the sake into square masu cups and handed one to Kakashi, who took it with a nod of thanks. 

They were quiet for a while. Tenzou looked down at his cup while Kakashi lowered his mask to take a sip. The clean, astringent smell of cedar hit him before the taste of the sake. He rolled the cool liquid in his mouth, savoring the flavor on each part of his tongue. 

When they were almost done, Tenzou spoke. “Why are you here, senpai?” He asked quietly, still looking down at his cup even though Kakashi had replaced his mask. That was one thing he liked about Tenzou: same as Minato and Kushina, his kouhai had never once questioned why he wore his mask, nor had they ever tried to look underneath. Tenzou’d had opportunity, when Kakashi was unconscious, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Tenzou had never once violated his privacy. 

But now the teasing air in the room was gone, replaced with a heavy sort of expectation. Kakashi lifted the cup to his mouth but didn’t drink, simply smelling the cedar through his mask. He breathed in deeply, then lowered it again. “I have a decision to make.” 

Tenzou blinked owlishly at him. He had likely never known Kakashi to ask for advice. Not of the living, at least. He sipped from his cup and waited for Kakashi to continue.

“I’m being offered something important. But I... don’t know if I can do it justice.”

“If Tsunade’s trying to make you the next Hokage, just show her one of your mission reports.” Tenzou snorted and took another sip. “That’ll change her mind.” 

Kakashi huffed a laugh. More than once he had conned Tenzou into writing one of their mission reports in ANBU for him, claiming it was “training” for when Tenzou eventually led his own unit. Luckily, the Sandaime himself had been the only one to see most of their reports, and he had been much more lenient than Iruka when it came to awful handwriting and blood stains. “I’ll keep you in mind as a character witness, if that day ever comes. Fortunately, it’s something else.” He hesitated a moment before continuing with a sigh. “Something personal.”

“Oh.” Tenzou didn’t ask for details. Kakashi wondered why it had taken him two years to speak to his kouhai again. Tenzou was a highly underappreciated wonder of Konoha. “Well…” He frowned. “I’m sure you’ve already gone through the pros and cons, senpai.”

“I have.” He had thought about how to phrase his question, how to worm his way onto the subject without exposing too much of himself to his earnest kouhai. 

He hadn’t come up with much.

“Do you think everyone deserves happiness?” 

Tenzou looked at him then, almond-shaped eyes wide. Kakashi stared at a sculpture in the corner, one that was barely recognizable as a dog of some indeterminable breed. If he squinted, the face looked a bit like Guruko. Tenzou took a long sip of his sake, and then another. 

“I don’t know.” He finally sighed, reaching for the bottle to refill his cup. Kakashi finished his and held it out for the same. “I think the idealistic answer is yes, and that’s probably what most people would say. But then I think of people like Orochimaru, and… It’s hard to say that honestly.”

Kakashi stared down at the nearly clear liquid in the masu. He could see his own reflection looking back at him. He tapped the corner with his finger, sending ripples through the sake and disturbing the image. 

“Senpai… do you remember what Sandaime used to say?” Tenzou asked softly. Kakashi glanced up and raised an eyebrow in question. Sandaime used to say a lot of things. Sometimes, Kakashi thought the old man memorized fortune cookies as a hobby. “‘There need be no reason for love; only hate.’” He pulled a foot up onto the couch and rested his elbow on it, chin in hand. “I think happiness is the same. Things like whether it’s deserved or not shouldn’t matter. If you question your reasons for it, you’re bound to destroy it. And happiness is too great a thing to destroy so easily.”

Tenzou looked out one of the many windows contemplatively. The sun was just starting to rise past the upper edge of the window frame, throwing long shadows on the wooden floor. It cast Tenzou’s tired features in sharp relief. “I think happiness always comes with a risk. Love does, too. But in the end, we have no choice but to take that risk, or there won’t be anything precious for us to protect.” 

He looked back to Kakashi, a soft smile adorning his lips. “You don’t need me, Kakashi-senpai. You already have your answer.” 

Just for a moment, Kakashi saw something of Rin in those glittering, fathomless eyes. 

There was a soft thud of wood against wood as Kakashi set his cup down on the tray.

“Are you looking into a career change, Tenzou?” Kakashi smiled, tone light and lofty even as he forced it through the thick knot in his throat. “You’d make an excellent counselor.”

“I’m starting to think Konoha would be a lot better off if we had more of those.” Tenzou sighed. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers above his head and extending his chest, twisting sharply until his spine popped. His eyes squinted closed in a yawn, and it made Kakashi think of long nights spent together, watching the sunrise without speaking.

“Thank you.” Kakashi said suddenly. 

His kouhai’s eyes snapped open. He looked a bit alarmed at the seriousness in Kakashi’s gaze. After a moment, he looked away, a light flush staining his cheeks. Kakashi stood to leave. He felt warm now, the alcohol burning in his belly. “Why did you come to me?” 

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck, turning to face the door. He thought for a long moment before responding. There were many reasons, one of which was that he didn’t really have anyone else. Guy was the closest thing, and he would have spent an hour crying and extrapolating upon the joys of youth before actually giving Kakashi any real answer. But there was another reason, beyond that and the unspoken fact that Kakashi trusted Tenzou implicitly. “You’ve been through what you have, and yet… you’re the most sane of any of us.” Kakashi gave his friend a small, wan smile. “Sane enough to realize when I wasn’t.”

There was a flicker of contrition there, and it was all the proof Kakashi needed that it had been Tenzou who recommended his removal from ANBU years before. Kakashi let his eyes crinkle as his smile brightened, conveying in expression what he couldn’t in words: 

Tenzou had made the right choice. 

Taking a few steps, he opened the door to leave.

“Kakashi-senpai?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. 

Tenzo smiled, tired but genuine. “For what it’s worth... I think you deserve happiness.” 

Kakashi swallowed thickly and shut the door behind him.

First, Kakashi went to the memorial stone. He watched the sunset there, with no fear of Iruka finding him. He would be careful not to find Kakashi until Kakashi wanted to be found. 

At the stone, he asked questions of the dead that he desperately wished they could answer.

He asked Kushina if she thought Kakashi was completely hopeless, and told her that she would have liked Iruka. 

He asked Rin for her forgiveness, and thanked her for always caring about him, even when he didn’t deserve it. 

He asked Obito for guidance, and admitted that he missed his friend more than ever now, but that he might have found someone else who was just as good at telling Kakashi how much of an idiot he was. 

“Minato-sensei…” Kakashi traced the kana carved into the stone, the sharp lines and angles that sat right next to his wife’s. “This what you were trying to show me, wasn’t it? What I could have, if I tried.” The stone was smooth against his fingertips. He took a deep breath of the cool fall air. It smelled like crisp leaves and pine needles. “I know what you would want me to do.”

All told, it took twenty-five hours for Kakashi to show up on Iruka’s doorstep. When he did, he wore his jounin uniform, only his cloth mask covering his features.

If he was going to do this, he was going to do it as his real self, without hiding behind a facade of anonymity. 

It took him another six minutes to get the courage to knock.

Finally, he took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. 

Kakashi clenched his shaking hand and rapped sharply on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to let me know in the comments if you would prefer a oneshot from Iruka's POV or the entire story. Thanks so much for all you guys do, and all of your beautiful comments that had inspired me to keep writing. <3 You guys are truly amazing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW content. 
> 
> I was really going to do the oneshot follow-up because I thought you guys might get bored with another 80k words about this story. But, after an overwhelming response, I've decided to do the entire thing from Iruka's POV. There'll be a short break in between, though, where I may publish a few oneshots outside of the world of Unspoken. (I want time to write at least the first several chapters of Iruka's POV before publishing anything, so I have a regular updating schedule.) 
> 
> So, if you're interested in the sequel to this story, or anything else I'll write, please subscribe for updates! 
> 
> I am just so overwhelmed with the response this story has gotten. Every single comment brings a smile to my face, and I can't begin to tell you guys how much this means to me. Thank you all for giving these two a chance, and the incredible support you all have shown.
> 
> If you have any ideas for my future oneshots while you wait for the sequel to Unspoken, tell me in the comments below or my Wattpad. (RenGoneMad) I'm interested in different pairings, plots, settings, etc. I'll try to oblige as many requests as I can!
> 
> I know I haven't responded to every comment, but I promise to do that for at least everyone on this last chapter. Thank you guys so much for going on this journey with me. <3

The door opened before Kakashi finished knocking. His hand was still raised, fist still clenched, when the door swung wide to reveal Iruka’s flushed cheeks and messy ponytail. He looked harried, fine strands of hair flying out with static, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, chest rising just a bit too quickly to be entirely normal. He was sans vest and kunai holster, and his hitai-ate sat slightly askew, dipping to cover just the edge of one eyebrow. His eyes gleamed with something unnamed but fiercely _alive_ in a way few things were.

He was stunning. 

Kakashi’s hand hovered in the space between them. All of the words he had prepared got lodged in his brain, sticking in the cogs somewhere between panic and desperate restraint; because in that moment, Iruka was the best damn thing he had ever seen, and it took sincere effort not to just reach out and _touch_. 

“Yo,” Kakashi finally greeted, turning the knocking motion into a little wave. His eye turned up in a faux-happy arch.

Iruka stared. 

Kakashi started to sweat. 

After a long, intensely awkward moment, Iruka came to life. He flushed more darkly and stepped to the side, allowing Kakashi the space to enter. He did, slipping past Iruka and pausing in the entryway. He forcefully diverted his attention to his surroundings, although his entire body felt attuned purely to the form beside him as Iruka closed the door.

Kakashi had always cut his stalking short at actually following Iruka home, so he had yet to see the inside of his apartment. To his right appeared to be the kitchen, a tiny little affair with just enough room for basic appliances and a minimal amount of counter space. To his left was the living room, cramped with a low kotatsu and threadbare couch. Beyond that, a hallway that must have led to the bedroom and bathroom. 

“I, uh--” Iruka cleared his throat as he pushed his hitai-ate up into the proper position. He ran a hand over his hair, hesitating at the holder that kept it up. “Would you like some tea?” His eyes flickered to Kakashi and then away again, nervously.

“Ah…” He hadn’t anticipated going through the tedium of social pleasantries before their discussion. He was a hairsbreadth from saying no, but a moment alone to gather his bearings might help him refrain from acting like a gangly teen about to ask out his long-term crush. “Sure.”

Iruka nodded stiffly. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.” He turned and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Kakashi hesitated before walking the other direction, entering the living room. He wandered over to the short bookcase and bent over to peer at the titles, eager for something to distract himself from the script he had nicely worked out and fucked up already. All the books were academic texts, mostly regarding ninjutsu or the history of Konoha. Iruka probably worked at the kotatsu, then. A set of multi-colored pens and stack of unmarked papers on top confirmed the theory. 

He surveyed the rest of the room. It was extremely tidy, although the dust in the corners and pencil jammed between couch cushions gave the impression of a hasty cleaning rather than a habitually neat personality. Framed pictures covered the walls; some of Iruka’s classes, and others that must have been drawn by the children themselves. The photograph in the place of honor above the bookcase was of Iruka and his parents, probably taken not long before the Kyuubi attack. Powerful nostalgia struck Kakashi as he took in the familiar, chubby-cheeked boy. 

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle pierced the air for only a moment before it was silenced. A minute later, the soft clink of the tray being placed on the kotatsu announced Iruka’s presence. Kakashi turned slightly to watch as Iruka stepped up beside him, also looking at the photograph on the wall. The chuunin seemed moderately more put together, with sleeves rolled down, ponytail redone, and hitai-ate gone. There was still a light pink tinge across his nose, but it didn’t extend past his cheeks. 

“It keeps amazing me how long I’ve actually known you.” Iruka murmured, glancing sidelong at Kakashi before shifting his gaze back to the picture. “But I guess you’ve known me for even longer than that.”

In some ways, Kakashi wasn’t certain that Iruka knew him at all. He had spent a year annoying Iruka with mission reports, they’d argued once rather publicly, and they’d been to dinner together twice. Other than that, every major interaction had been in the guise of Inu. 

But, as Iruka had pointed out only yesterday, Kakashi _was_ Inu. And while he may have acted differently than he would have as himself, in many ways, he had used the porcelain mask to say things that he never could have as Kakashi--things regarding his feelings for Iruka, and his reasons for never coming back to the memorial stone. He had broken down in Iruka’s arms, clung to him and all but begged him to stitch Kakashi back together. None of those things had been lies. In many ways, Iruka knew Kakashi intimately, purely _because_ of Inu. 

When Kakashi didn’t respond, Iruka spoke again. His words were rushed, like he had been holding them back until they had no choice but to burst forth. “What do you want from me?”

This was the moment of truth. He could see it in every wary but determined line of Iruka’s face as he turned to face Kakashi, could see it in the way tension pulled him taut and he squared his jaw like he was preparing for an attack. What Kakashi said here could make or break them. Kakashi’s words had the power to change his entire _world_. Anxiety and eager anticipation welled up in his chest, compressing his lungs until he could barely breathe.

This time, Kakashi was the one who closed the distance between them. He reached out, slowly, so Iruka would have a chance to move away. He didn’t. Kakashi’s gloved palm rested over Iruka’s hand, grasped his fingers. They were warm and strong, rough with callouses. Iruka’s eyes fell to watch as Kakashi covered tanned skin and moved him, bit by bit, until Iruka’s hand rested over Kakashi’s heart. He knew Iruka would feel the quick, irregular rhythm; the nervous, sincere excitement that beat there. 

Iruka’s lips parted slightly, a deep breath escaping him as he stared at their combined hands. Kakashi’s index and middle fingers rose until only his fingertips rested on the back of Iruka’s hand. Then, he tapped a message, one that he meant with every fiber of his being, in whatever way it could be taken. At the same time, he verbalized it, forcing it past his throat in a poignant rasp.

“ _Everything_.”

Kakashi’s breaths were slow and deep, controlled, but Iruka would be able to feel the mad pace of his heart. Kakashi waited, watching as that light shade of pink spread across Iruka’s nose, highlighting the dark line of the scar bisecting his face. Iruka’s eyes darted up to Kakashi’s single, visible grey eye. He was searching for something, but Kakashi couldn’t tell what. When Iruka spoke again, his voice was low. It sent a shiver along Kakashi’s spine, caressing him like a physical touch. 

“And what will you give me?” 

The question had multiple layers that Kakashi took precious seconds to comprehend. Not too long ago, he had been uncertain of his answer. The very concept of exposing himself was still frightening, still something that Kakashi knew he would have to fight his instincts tooth-and-nail to do. The momentous weight of this question lay heavily on his tongue, choking him. His breaths picked up again, panic starting to set in, but Kakashi pushed it back.

He remembered Minato and Kushina, remembered the tender affection in their gazes. He remembered Rin’s love, and Obito’s trust, and Tenzou’s words. Kakashi didn’t know if he believed them, didn’t know if he could ever truly be worthy of Iruka. 

But he knew two things absolutely:

He would do everything in his power to _become_ worthy. 

And if Iruka-- _Iruka_ , with his endless strength and boundless heart--couldn’t love Kakashi… then there was no one on Earth that could. 

Iruka waited patiently, his palm still flat against Kakashi’s chest. Kakashi’s free hand slowly rose, his fingertips curling around the edge of his mask. He watched Iruka’s expression shift, eyes widening and fingertips tightly gripping the coarse fabric of Kakashi’s vest. 

Kakashi’s eye slipped closed while he dragged the mask down his nose and mouth, exposing the shaved-smooth line of his jaw. 

His skin felt overheated as it was exposed to the cool air, blood rushing unbecomingly to his skin. The mask pooled underneath his chin, and he was painfully aware that he was exposing himself in an act far more intimate and profound than sex. 

He took a deep breath, his first in Iruka’s home without cloth filtering it. The scents nearly overwhelmed him. Black tea, paper, ink, earth, something savory--everything Pakkun had once told him, Kakashi was now inhaling like a drug. Then there was something else, the scent of shampoo or soap or perhaps just Iruka himself, and it was all Kakashi could do not to sway.

His eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eye, slowly, focusing in on Iruka’s expression. He was almost afraid of what he would see, but he saw no disgust or reticence there. Iruka was drinking in every inch of Kakashi’s features, but his eyes were soft, and there was a tenderness in his expression that made Kakashi’s heart ache underneath Iruka’s palm. That tenderness gave him the courage to speak, and for once, the words weren’t filtered through any mask: cloth, porcelain, or metaphorical. 

Though he spoke softly, his voice was steady. 

“Everything.”

The first time Kakashi saw Iruka at the memorial stone, he had been only a child himself, but he had already lost so much. Iruka had been something interesting, a break from the shades of grey and poignant regret that encompassed the area around the stone. Iruka had been _emotion_ , pure and raw, when Kakashi had been unable to express or comprehend his own. 

Time passed and the serious, straight-laced teenager who staked his life on rules and regulations slowly morphed. Gradually, he assimilated into his being everything that he admired about Obito, and did his best to suppress what he had come to despise in himself. Iruka had been there then, as well, as a constant companion, someone to remember and cling to when he started to lose himself in blood and lightning and porcelain. 

After leaving ANBU, Kakashi had looked for something to ground him again, something to identify with after the cold mask that had defined his life for so long was ripped away. Iruka had once again become his guiding light, and he had remained that, even after Kakashi was pulled once more into the fold of Konoha’s best assassins. 

Through every major change in Kakashi’s life after the tender age of fourteen, one thing stayed the same. Iruka was the thread that bound Kakashi together as a whole, the bricks that bridged the gap between Inu and Kakashi, soldier and human. 

It didn’t matter what Iruka wanted, because every single part of Kakashi was already his.

“Iruka…” Kakashi’s fingers gripped tighter, and the hand that had tugged down his mask fell to rest on Iruka’s hip. He needed to get the words out, needed to make sure that Iruka understood. They had already come this far, and if Kakashi held back now, he always would. Iruka deserved better than that--better than the man who had run away from him so many times.

 _Kakashi_ would be better. 

“You have all of me.”

This time, Iruka was the one that leaned in, but Kakashi met him halfway. It wasn’t their first kiss, and given Kakashi’s lack of experience, it probably wasn’t the best Iruka had ever had; it was a little too dry and a little too forceful and a little too much of everything all at once. 

But it was exactly perfect. 

Iruka’s lips were soft and warm. Passion bled into the kiss like a sweet wine. Iruka’s free hand slid around Kakashi’s neck, tangling in his hair, holding Kakashi to him as if he were afraid the jounin would suddenly dematerialize. 

He wouldn’t. Not this time.

Kakashi chased Iruka’s lips when he started to pull away, searching for that heat, the stunning contact that shocked him like the most pleasant electricity. He swallowed the soft chuckle that fell from Iruka’s mouth. Then Iruka pulled away again, gently. Kakashi’s eye fluttered open. Iruka was beaming, smile stretched ear to ear, along with his blush. His eyes glittered like smoky quartz.

“That better mean you want a relationship.” Iruka voice was breathy, fingers still buried in Kakashi’s hair. “Because damn it, Kakashi, I’m really tired of waiting.” Elation shone through his words, and he ended them on a laugh. 

Kakashi didn’t even realize he was smiling until Iruka’s hand slid across his neck, thumb gently stroking along Kakashi’s lower lip. His world zeroed in on that singular point of contact, and it stole his breath, because it was the first time anyone had touched his face--his _real_ face. He had kissed exactly three people before Iruka, all of which were ANBU targets who had died by his hands, and all of whom had seen him under a transformation jutsu. 

Iruka was the only person he had shown his face by conscious decision, ever since donning his mask at the tender age of four. 

And yet, somehow, Kakashi couldn’t even find it in himself to be anxious, not anymore. Euphoria and childish, blinding joy filled him to the brim, knocking out all other emotions and thoughts until _Iruka_ was all he could feel, until he was positively spilling over, head swimming with everything that was _Iruka_. 

He opened his mouth and pulled Iruka’s thumb between his teeth, nipping it with sharp canines. Iruka jumped, a little surprised noise leaping from his throat. His cheeks darkened. Kakashi grinned. “No more waiting.” 

Iruka’s smile grew crooked, then slowly dimmed. “After last night, I…” A small crease formed between his brows. His hand on Kakashi’s chest flipped around, his fingers lacing with Kakashi’s in a blend of tawny and alabaster. His other hand slipped lower, across the smooth surface of Kakashi’s cheek, past the strong lines of his chest, and finally coming to rest on his waist. “I thought you didn’t want this. What changed?”

Kakashi’s eye cut awkwardly to the side, his rapture dimming a bit in light of the embarrassment now washing through him. He had been rather hoping they could just bypass all of that, but he really should have known better. Iruka wouldn’t stand for anything less than the complete truth. At least the mortification proved that this wasn’t an exceptionally elaborate genjutsu. 

“I never expected this.” Kakashi’s eye darted back to Iruka, who didn’t look particularly surprised, just expectant for more. He sighed, fingers clenching on Iruka’s hip. He shook his head minutely. “I didn’t plan for you to ever find out who I was. And even if you did, I never thought that you’d want-- _me_.” His voice was thick, uneven, but he only paused for a moment before forcing himself to continue. “I was overwhelmed, and…” 

He had to say this, needed Iruka to trust him, but each word sliced his throat like a knife, like he was carving away his own flesh to expose the bones beneath. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Kakashi whispered hoarsely, eye slowly sliding to meet Iruka’s before squeezing closed. His heart pounded too loudly in his ears. 

Too many beats passed before Iruka spoke. 

“Kakashi.” Iruka’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into his side, above the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Kakashi,” He insisted again, softly, and Kakashi met his gaze. Iruka was smiling at him, so gentle and sweet that it must have tasted like honey. He wanted to lean in and find out, but he was still trembling in the dregs of his own insecurities and couldn’t bring himself to even move. “I don’t expect everything to be perfect. We’re… very different people. We have different goals, different views. Honestly, I could see all of this going up in flames pretty spectacularly.” 

Well. That wasn’t quite the romantic speech he had been expecting. 

Something must have shown on his expression, because Iruka laughed, smiling broadly. “This isn’t a fairytale, Kakashi. We’re both independent people, and stubborn beyond belief. I’m sure we’ll have our fair share of fights. You _will_ hurt me, and I’m sure I’ll hurt you, too. But, at the end of the day…” Iruka inhaled deeply, eyes roaming over Kakashi’s exposed features. He let it out on a soft sigh. “I trust you. We don’t know everything about each other, but I know enough. I know that you’re the one I want to talk to. You’re the one I want to share everything with. And that’s worth fighting through everything else.”

“You really want to be with me.” It was phrased as a statement, but the rough, unsteady tone spoke of Kakashi’s war with hope and obstinately clinging disbelief. 

“Yes.” 

It wasn’t exactly a confession of all-encompassing, life-long love, and it was exactly that which allowed Kakashi to believe it. It was plain, and honest, and _right_. If Iruka had come to him with grandiose declarations and a vow, he would have run away with his tail between his legs, because Kakashi couldn’t quite believe yet that he was worth that. Nothing he had done up to this point could possibly have been worth Iruka’s _everything_. But the simple way Iruka said this, the genuine but still burgeoning affection evident in those carob depths, made him think of a future and of a reality where maybe, just possibly, he could _become_ enough. 

It was more than Kakashi could have ever expected, but less than his wildest dreams.

It was perfect. 

Iruka’s lips on his were perfect, too. 

So were his hands on Kakashi’s waist, and the cold tea they finally got around to drinking. 

Also perfect was the fragrant, still-warm tea he savored the next night, and the one after that. 

Each night Kakashi went without his masks-- _any_ of them--and somehow… 

Being vulnerable wasn’t as hard as he thought.

Kakashi was still part of ANBU, and they only had those few days together before he was called back into the field. But when he returned weeks later, it wasn’t to his empty apartment. 

That night, he cooked a meal that made Iruka smile.

When Iruka invited him to the bedroom aftwards, his smile was shy and shaky, and it came with the promise that nothing had to happen. But it did, because they had both waited so long, and the fire that built in Kakashi then didn’t burn his hands, but instead danced along his fingertips, licked his toes, and pooled in his belly, gradually building into an inferno that made his blood sing.

They stood in the middle of the bedroom, and Kakashi didn’t spare a single glance around, not to examine his surroundings or find the quickest methods of escape, or likely entry points for an attack. He didn’t spare a single glance because there could have been a Kage level opponent bearing down on them and it wouldn’t have been more important than the man before him, the tantalizing reveal of flesh and muscle as Kakashi pulled the long sleeved shirt over Iruka’s head. 

He tossed it to the floor unseeingly, and then he was stripped of his own shirt. Iruka’s eyes danced over his skin like quicksilver, taking in the ANBU tattoo curling on his left bicep, the pale scars crossing his skin like fine needlework, the unguarded, exposed line of his throat. He didn’t have to wonder if Iruka found him pleasing, because he could see desire in those depths, see the fire and _want_ that burned within them.

Kakashi couldn’t stand another instant without _feeling_ it. 

His fingers curled over Iruka’s neck, into his hair, and he slipped the holder from its place. Iruka’s hair fell in dark waves that tickled his shoulders, framing a strong chin and eyes so dark now they were nearly black. Iruka’s flush extended to his chest, dusting his skin with that sweet, sweet pink. Kakashi’s mouth brought more color, red rushing to the surface as he nipped and sucked and left little marks on every part of Iruka’s body he could reach, because he finally could, and every crimson stain was proof that this was real. 

Iruka’s chest rose and fell heavily with shaky breaths. His eyes grew half-lidded before opening wide when Kakashi fell to his knees. 

Kakashi had never done this before, but he didn’t hesitate as he pushed Iruka’s pants and underwear past his hips, revealing strong, muscular thighs and prominent interest, engorged with arousal. Kakashi breathed deeply, committing the heady scent to memory. 

Then he committed the taste to memory, too. 

Perhaps his inexperience showed, because Kakashi went too far, too fast, and had to pull back abruptly before he choked. But he wasn’t a damn genius for nothing. He quickly learned to relax his throat, listened to Iruka’s hitching breaths or low moans to learn what actions to repeat. When Iruka curled his fingers in Kakashi’s hair, he tried to look up and see Iruka’s expression, but his vision was blurry. It took him a moment to realize he was blinking away tears. 

It was another moment before he understood that they weren’t caused by his enthusiastic worship, but by the riptide of _feelings_ threatening to overtake him. 

Because Kakashi had never felt as _desired_ or _needed_ in his entire life as when Iruka welcomed him into his home and his bed. 

His fingers curled into Iruka’s thighs, urging him deeper. Iruka’s hand knocked off Kakashi’s hitai-ate, baring the entirety of his face and the deep, ugly scar that ran down his eyelid and cheek. Only it didn’t _feel_ ugly, not when Iruka traced it with his thumb, not when Kakashi opened his sharingan instinctually and captured perfectly the enraptured, loving expression on Iruka’s face, his parted lips and blown pupils and blush so deep it was crimson as the bites Kakashi had left.

He realized then that, for the first time, _Obito’s_ eye wasn’t the one that was crying. 

_This was real._

Kakashi’s jaw started to hurt, and his own arousal ached where it was pressed too firmly against his pants, but he wouldn’t stop for the world. Not until Iruka murmured his name like a prayer, tugged his hair and slipped a hand around his throat, applying only enough pressure to urge him back. Kakashi reluctantly pulled away, and for a heart-stopping moment, he couldn’t understand why they had paused. 

But Iruka smiled, stepped out of his clothes, and sat on the mattress. He fumbled in his dresser drawer and pulled out a small bottle, and the expression on his face was so adorably hopeful and embarrassed that Kakashi _laughed_ , because only _Iruka_ would be afraid of asking for too much when Kakashi was willing to give him so much more than his just body. 

He kicked off his pants with unabashed eagerness and in a flash he was straddling Iruka’s hips, bracing himself on one arm beside Iruka’s head while the other grabbed the small bottle. Iruka’s lips met his and Kakashi was absorbed in their warmth and heat for far too many seconds. 

_This was real._

Iruka’s hips canted upwards, pressing their erections together, and Kakashi hissed. His brain jolted back online and he flicked open the bottle cap with one thumb, squeezing a liberal amount on his fingers before tossing it beside them on the bed. 

Iruka’s legs moved, opening wider. Kakashi shifted his knees further apart so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Then, he reached back and, unceremonious in his haste, slid a single digit into himself. The kiss faltered and his breath hitched, brow furrowing against the unusual burn of a sensation he had never felt before. 

Kakashi almost wished he had practiced this alone at least once, but he quickly tossed that thought away. He wanted to give Iruka all of the firsts he had left. 

“Oh,” Iruka breathed, and he sounded surprised for some reason Kakashi couldn’t fathom, and could barely bring himself to contemplate while trying to get used to the overwhelming sensations. “ _Oh_.” There was enough emotion in that word that Kakashi cracked his eye open, pulling back enough to see Iruka’s expression. 

Iruka was staring at him, eyes wide as saucers and mouth parted. Kakashi could hear him swallow, see the bob of his adam’s apple, could very nearly _feel_ the wonder and awe that filled his expression. 

Kakashi grew impatient. He tried to add another finger, but it was too soon. The pain made him tense. It was entirely different from breaking bones or being stabbed in the thigh by a kunai. Even if it was technically much lower on his threshold, was really quite tolerable in the grand scope of things, the intimate and strange location made it harder for his brain to turn off his reaction. 

A hand covered his, easing it away. Iruka’s fingers intertwined with his own, spreading the slickness to tanned digits. 

“Let me,” Iruka murmured. His finger took the place of Kakashi’s, and at first, it was too much. Iruka’s fingers were ever so slightly thicker, and even just one stretched him. Kakashi’s forehead dropped to Iruka’s, eye slipping closed again as he focused on relaxing his rigid muscles. Iruka’s free hand lighted on his hip, rubbing soothing circles there with his thumb. 

_This was real._

His motions were gentler than Kakashi’s. He slipped in and out, teased with light pressure, gently caressed him, and twice added more liquid. Their fronts ground together, keeping Kakashi’s interest steady throughout the slow adjustment. 

At some point, his mouth slid down. He sucked on Iruka’s earlobe and relished the gasp it drew. He traveled farther, nipping sharply at his throat, sucking at the juncture between neck and shoulder. Eventually the discomfort resolved entirely, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation that made Kakashi’s hips jut forward with the desire for something more. 

He moved himself back, desperation once again motivating him, and then… he was finally filled. 

And _this was real_ , and he nearly sobbed in relief.

The physical sensations were intense, but the ones in his chest were even stronger, because he was entirely filled with _Iruka_ : with his laugh, his smile, his tears, his hands, his lust, his body, his kindness, and Kakashi couldn’t even breathe, he was so _fucking happy_. He had never realized it was _possible_ to be so happy; without worry, or fear, or self-loathing, or guilt, or adrenaline. Even the post-mission ache in his thighs, and the strain of a new sort of movement, couldn’t dull the exultation that exploded inside of him with every motion. 

Because _Iruka_ was with him, in every way possible, and Kakashi lost himself in it. 

A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away, because he could still see everything with the clear, perfect view of the sharingan. He could see the thin sheen of sweat beading on Iruka’s forehead, the way his abdominals clenched as Kakashi rose, the way his fingers made sable stripes against the pale skin of Kakashi’s narrow hips, clinging to him tightly as they moved in tandem.

Iruka was vocal, but not in the cheesy, overdone way of an _Icha Icha_ character. He gave soft sighs or low moans, little noises of need in the back of his throat. Each one filled Kakashi, brought him higher until he was soaring. He had never been loud during sex before, never done more than an occasional gruff word or harsh pant. But, at some point, his voice joined Iruka’s, in near-mindless, breathless words of encouragement and praise and honesty so sincere that it felt as though he was stripping bare his very soul, like Iruka was entering him in more than just the place where their bodies connected. 

His orgasm was a glorious thing, full of white light and dark eyes. 

The whole thing didn’t last near long enough, but that was fine. They would have other times together, times to explore and mark and tease in all the ways Kakashi wanted. Just the certainty that there _would be_ more times was enough to make him thank every god in existence, and a few others besides. 

When they both came down from their peaks, Kakashi spent many long moments just looking at Iruka, with both of his eyes. He recorded the full-body flush, the rosy marks, and the warm, satiated contentment that emanated from his lover like a glow. 

Then exhaustion washed over him and he lay down, pulling the covers over them. He couldn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing except _this_. 

Because _this was real_. 

He wrapped Iruka in his arms, buried his nose in those dark locks, and listened to the sounds of their breathing. 

While basking in their shared body heat, the blinding warmth that enveloped him like the softest blanket, Kakashi realized one last thing. 

In his arms, he held something more important than happiness, or a reason to fight, although he had found those things as well. 

What Kakashi held was something else, something that he had never even dared to wish for. 

It was something he had never realized he was missing, because it hadn’t been in his vocabulary to begin with. 

He had found his _home_.

And for the first time in Kakashi’s life, he didn’t let any words go unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Love isn't a fairytale, or infatuation, or lust. It isn't an uncontrollable, unstoppable force, or a mercurial emotion. It's a commitment. A commitment to do better, to try harder, to give and respect and cherish, even when all you want to do is run the other way. 
> 
> Sometimes, love hurts. Sometimes, love means taking a step back from those who won't make that same commitment to you. 
> 
> Because before you can make a commitment to others, you must first make a commitment to yourself. You must make a promise to forgive, respect, and love yourself. You must make a promise to better yourself, to grow into the person that /you/ want to be. 
> 
> Sometimes, we feel we can only be saved by the love of another. That isn't true. Though another person may make us see our own inner beauty, may make us feel it's alright to forgive ourselves, actual forgiveness and love only comes from within.
> 
> Only once you understand and cherish your own heart, and find happiness within yourself, can you truly make a commitment to protect and respect another.
> 
> And that dedication to yourself, to your own heart and your own happiness, is love. 
> 
> Once you have love for yourself, you can spread it to the world."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Naruto fandom, and I would absolutely love some feedback. Constructive criticism is entirely welcome and appreciated!
> 
> I know no one in this fandom, but I'm eager to finally be publishing this story that's been rolling around my brain as I've re-read Naruto and reveled in the beauty of Kakashi and Iruka's characters. I hope you guys enjoy!


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